For the Greater Good
by cloudscape
Summary: -On hold- Dumbledore build powerful wards from Lily's sacrifice, keeping her son safe as long as her sister provides him a home. No one can harm Harry while he is with his family… but what if someone simply asked the Dursley's to hand him over? Grey!Harry
1. The Deal of a Life

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

Pairings:  
This story is not a romance; though throughout the story people get together and people break up, any intimate situations that occur are written as part of the plot or part of the story – not solely to pair characters off.

Rating: NC17

My characters have their own world views and do things they believe they can justify or believe they can get away with, some of which are considered illegal, immoral, or plain evil in the eyes of other characters and real-life people (including me). If you are likely to take offence at this, please don't read this story. On a lighter note, this is not written to be angst or dark-fic. On the other hand, I do intend to bring out some issues in the wizarding world that are glossed over in canon, much to my regret and, sometimes, anger.

I do not like warnings since I consider them spoilery. However, if there are issues that really bother you and you would like to know if this story is safe for you to read, ask me about them in a signed review and I'll sent you an owl back.

Disclaimer: Based on J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series, anything you recognise from these is hers. Anything you recognise from another fanfic must have somehow slipped into my canon-memory, because the writer was just that good. If I slip, feel free to point it out so I can give credit where it is due. :-)

Author notes, added August 2009:

I write fanfiction to become a better writer. When I posted my first chapters, I was very proud and satisfied with them. Recently, I re-read them and cringed at my writing, which is good, for it must mean I got better. I would like to rewrite the first few posts, but that would take writing time I prefer to put into new chapters. I did correct the worst parts of the prologue and might repost a few other chapters later. The prologue remains in a different style as the rest of the story, directly addressing the reader. Please do not let the writing put you off if you like the plot; it gets better. I promise.

Now onto the important part…

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Prologue: The Deal of a Life**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Mr. Vernon Dursley, director of Grunning's Drills Inc., had had a quite satisfying, normal morning. He had shouted at several of his subordinates and made some firm phone calls. Maybe he had been overdoing it a little bit. Not that he would admit such a thing, but one might have perceived him as being somewhat nervous. He happened to have good reason, I assure you.

Very soon, now, the summer holidays would start. And while he had been looking forward to having his darling Dudders back home, his bright and strong, but only, son, who was growing nicely into a solid, straight young man, he would also have to tolerate his good-for-nothing, freak of a nephew in his house once more. Not only was the ungrateful, insolent boy eating from their table, sleeping in their house, and wearing Dudley's clothes, which would have been bad enough, no, the situation was a million times worse…

His nephew, you see, was not normal. Frankly, the boy was about as far from normal as it was possible to be whilst still being human. Although, the boy's humanity was, in Vernon's view of things, not a certainty at all.

Whenever the boy was around, strange things would happen. Freaky things, things one might have been tempted to call magical, were it not that, as any solid Englishman well knows, there was no such thing as magic.

Truly, there was no such thing as magic. No such thing as children levitating cakes though the house and absolutely no such thing as a school where adults – who should know better – were teaching magic tricks to impressionable children. And this school was absolutely not located in Scotland. There was no such thing as Scotland... _Err_, okay, maybe Vernon was just a tiny little bit over-apprehensive about the upcoming holidays.

So now you can see Vernon's problem. Here he was, a hard working, good, upright member of the community, loving his wife, his son and his country. Trying to project a happy family life to the community, while having to house this freakish boy who continued to do things which had no right to exist whenever he or his wife had their back turned even for a second.

It was absolutely maddening. Every time he thought he had the boy somewhat under control, something weird would happen and always at the worst possible moment. What should have been Dudley's perfect birthday outing was spoiled by the freak setting loose wild animals at the zoo, on purpose! What would have been his best business deal ever, wrecked because the freak thought it funny to go and throw cakes at their guests. His kind sister Marge, a soul as loyal as a bulldog and just as protective, had nearly been launched into space, only because the boy was not able to face the fact that his parents were just as much good-for-nothings as the boy himself was determined to become. The list of the freak's crimes went on and on.

While the boy was away at that excuse of a school, Vernon was pretty comfortable. But when he was at their home, Vernon lived his days in fear. Fear of returning home one evening only to find his house BLOWN UP, or _worse_ to find that the neighbours had finally got wind of the abnormality they had been desperately been trying to hide. Ever since the boy had been pushed upon them, Petunia in particular feared that that would happen, not that she had ever said anything – not one to whine, his lovely lithe flower. He knew it from the way she peeked out of the window several times an hour, to see if anyone was watching them, from her nosing over the fence, just to make sure no one was listening in.

And now the imbecilic boy had picked a fight with Britain's most dangerous w... wiz... _maniac_ ever! Now he and Petunia lived in fear of danger unimaginable, or worse.

While Vernon was musing over this the umpteenth time this week, his secretary announced his next appointment had arrived.

-o-O-o-

Vernon set himself to display every shred of joviality that he could muster when Mister White was shown into his office. At the same time, he examined the stranger's appearance as best as he could, without being overly obvious.

This new business contact has been directed to him by an old schoolmate from Smeltings, who had confessed he didn't know what the man might be wanting with drills, for this White didn't seem to be involved in the building industry. However, his old Smeltings-fellow was positive the man had too much money for his own good and was aching to spend it. It shouldn't be too difficult to rid him of a nice part of it.

Mr. White walked into Vernon's office clothed in a neat suit that seemed to be Italian and made to fit. The sort of thing Vernon wore in his most ambitious dreams. It was of a rather conservative cut, not to say old fashioned. In Vernon's eyes, Whites appearance screamed 'old money'. His contact had been spot on. White stood too straight, Vernon observed, and the man projected an air of thinking himself better than Vernon. '_Oh yes_,' he knew this type. '_Money like water and airs to go with it._'

This suited him just fine. '_Those with too much money for their own good tend to have little idea of the worth of it. So, whatever it is that the man wants, if I kiss up a little this could become a very, very profitable day,_' mused Vernon.

Vernon had originally offered to discuss the business over lunch in some expensive restaurant; not that he liked those bills encroaching on his profits, but such invitations were an expected part of business negotiations. Mister White, however, had politely declined this, opting to meet Vernon in his office instead. This was just about perfect, in Vernon's view, for the cost would be minimal and he was now in his own territory, which was always a helpful thing in negotiations.

White gave a firm handshake – good, Vernon didn't like dealing with nancy-boys. It made him feel filthy. Being like that wasn't normal; experts – at least the level-headed ones who dared to be politically incorrect - said it was an illness and Vernon was afraid that he would get infected and become some kind of sissy himself. The virus, or whatever it was that was causing it, seemed especially endemic in upper-class circles. Well, it prevented all the money to be spread amongst to many heirs, Vernon guessed.

They sat themselves in Vernon's comfortable leather chairs while his secretary served them coffee. Vernon started with some chit-chat about sports, his usual introduction to business conversation, but White stated he preferred to get down to business directly. A client to Vernon's hearth.

"Mister Dursley..."

"Oh, do call me Vernon, I have the feeling we are old friends already..."

"Vernon, if you wish." Something about the way White said his name, made Vernon feel they were, truly, old friends already, even while White refrained from telling Vernon his own given name.

'_Ah, a pity,_' Vernon thought, '_Well, it shouldn't be _too_ easy_.' He was positive he could win White's trust.

"I'd like to be frank with you, for beating about the bush is not going to aid in our understanding of each other's wishes."

Vernon nodded his approval, waiting for Mr White to continue.

"I am aware that Grunnings is the best drill producing company in Britain, and therefore in the whole word..."

This evoked an almost genuine smile from Vernon.

"...however my business does not concern drills."

Vernon was disappointed, almost to the point of losing his jovial negotiating poker-face.  
But just as he opened his mouth to respond, White continued, "I see that I confuse you. I am very sorry for all the subterfuge, but in a moment you will understand the necessity. Before I get to the actual topic I wish to discuss with you, I need to verify that we are not overheard. The topic is very sensitive and not even your secretary should know."

Vernon was getting impatient at this; no drills, no business; he was wasting his time. Suppressing his feelings, he forced himself the stay polite and said, "Perhaps you could state your area of business; as it isn't drills, I am probably not the one you ought to be talking with. However, I might be able do direct you to someone who can deliver what you need."

Even if he wasn't going to get a contract out of this himself, he might still be able to help one of the old boys from Smeltings; such ties needed to be fed every now and then, anyway.

"I do understand your position in this; however, I can only reveal that it concerns a matter of national security."

Vernon blinked. "National security?"

"I haven't done…" Vernon trailed off. '_Oh shit, the freak has done something and now we are in trouble with the secret service.'_

"Vernon, rest assured you are not under any suspicion. To the contrary, the country needs your help."

This got Vernon's interest. "I'd be most honoured to help; however, if it doesn't concern drills..."

"Is the room secure?" White interrupted.

"A second." Vernon pulled out the cord to his intercom, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Now it is. My secretary cannot hear us. Please, state your business."

"Ah, well, my sincere excuses would I be wrong and that the subject might be considered slightly embarrassing. According to my sources, you have charge of a, shall we say, rather _strange_ child."

'_Shit, this _is_ about Harry! What to say...how to respond?_'

"And if I would say that I have?" Vernon finally replied, proud he managed to stay collected and able to respond in a calm voice.

"You are alarmed. You need not be; I do not blame you for this strangeness. Are you attached to the child?"

Vernon grumbled, "He's my wife's sister's son, his parents got themselves killed with one of their weird antics. We took him in – could not send him for adoption, getting some poor, unsuspecting soul saddled with him."

"Ah, not attached." White sounded very pleased at Vernon's words. "That makes our business a good deal easier.

"As you no doubt guessed from my earlier statement, I am concerned with this country's security and defence. An intelligent man like yourself will also realise that children like your nephew are born not only in Britain." White stopped here for some moments to leave his words time to sink in. When a widening of Vernon's eyes signalled that Vernon realised where he was headed, White continued, "However much we might not like the strangeness that these children are representing, we simply cannot overlook the fact that other countries are willing to put up with it for their own use. Subsequently, we have to do so, too."

Following this, White spoke for nearly ten minutes non-stop. About magical attacks and espionage, all the nasty things that other counties would try to launch at Britain, should Britain be unprepared. About the _very secret_ department, MI13, that was charged with countering this. He spoke about finding children like Harry to train them and make them useful.

Vernon listened and found he agreed with every word. He could not understand that he had never thought of it himself and was very happy to learn that the government did in fact know about those freaks and was doing whatever it took to protect normal society from their weirdness.

"So, you wish to train my nephew, so his _talent_ can become useful for the protection of our country?"

Mr. White smiled in acknowledgement of Vernon's conclusion.

"What if such a child doesn't understand his duty to England?"

"Ah, yes. That happens. In time they see the error of their ways, until then... Sometimes we might have to be a bit...harsh, more so than one would with normal children. It's a pity," White answered, sounding like he had no memory of ever feeling pity for anyone. "You will understand, for you are a man of the world, that in my line of business, one simply cannot allow anything but strict discipline."

Vernon smiled from ear to ear. "I am afraid the boy needs a lot of discipline."

"The older ones usually do; it's easier when we find them young," answered White in his emotionless voice.

Taking Vernon's silence as an indication that he had no more questions, White decided to move on to the more formal part of his business. While drawing some documents out of his business suitcase, he told Vernon, "Due to the unusual traitsof the children involved, there are some adaptations needed in the legal proceedings."

Vernon silently raised his eyebrows, to say 'go ahead, explain!'

"You will need to relocate your parental responsibility of the child in question to me. A normal contract will not be sufficient. The boy needs to be bound by more then that can provide for."

Vernon made a face at this reference to his nephew's freakishness, but nodded for White to continue. '_Of course I would get myself involved in weirdness, seeing what we are dealing with. Freaks have no respect for proper normal agreements._' Vernon smirked. '_The arrogant boy had made the rod to beat his own back; he will learn to hate the magic he loves so much once it is used to keep him in check_.' Vernon was truly happy the government officials dealing with this make such a thorough job of it. A pity he would not be able to witness the men in MI13 '_teaching'_ the freakish boy his proper place in the world.

"We work with reinforced paper. It will seem oddly thick, but it needs to be strong enough to bear the special ink. The ink is specially made so the contract will be binding, even for such people as your nephew. "

Vernon took a moment to inspect the weird thick yellowish paper White handed him, and tried to read the text on it. He blinked and looked again, but the writing stayed the same. '_Greek?_'

"Why not proper English? You are English are you? Not some oriental fake? Are you stealing our resources?" Vernon roared, believing White was trying to deceive him.

When he answered, White's voice somehow had a distinctly calming quality. "I laud your patriotism, Vernon. But rest assured, I am as English as one can get. Related to our dear Queen, even, although that would be several centuries back."

"Related to the Queen, really? Petunia and I should look into our ancestors. Who knows what we will turn up?" Vernon murmured pacified.

He missed the diabolic grin that flashed over White's face.

In a louder voice, Vernon added, "But still, why Greek?"

"I would prefer things to be different, myself; unfortunately, the Greek is a necessity. The ancient Greeks first developed this type of bonding."

Vernon grumbled thinking to himself, '_Involving myself in foreign weirdness. Just my luck._'

White took a deep breath. "The matter of signing is also a bit strange; there is this special dip pen, which contains no ink. This will be used to severe the bond the boy has with your family, through his mother and your wife. As he is related to your wife, she is the one who should sign".

Vernon frowned, while examining the pen White handed him. "How can she sign anything without ink?"

"The pen will use her blood," White stated blandly.

"HER BLOOD, ARE YOU MENTAL?"

"I understand your shock and adversity. Please, do remember just _what_ we are dealing with. _Normal_ ink would not work."

While Vernon remained still at this explanation, he sat shaking with anger. Or maybe it was fear.

"I will not sugar-coat the harsh reality. It will be very uncomfortable. The pen will slice open the back of her hand while she writes with it. But I guaranty her hand will be healed again in seconds, not leaving a scratch."

Vernon's face had become an unsettling shade of purple and he seemed about to throw White out off his office.

White added hastily, "Taking in this child must not only have caused you a lot of grief and worry, it must also be taxing on your finances."

Thus, he managed to direct Vernon's anger away from himself to the item on the agenda again. He even underscored his words with a sort of wave with his hand as if unconsciously conducting Vernon's thoughts elsewhere. The effect was instantaneous. Vernon launched into a rant on all the misfortunes that the boy has caused them through the years, and how that and the upkeep for the good-for-nothing freak has cost them their dream of owning a vacation house in Majorca.

White knew how to recognise an opening, especially if it was presented so greedily. "For those whom I am representing, the child _is_ good for _something_. So of course we will be happy to compensate you for your expenses."

White paused here, waiting until he was certain he had Vernon's undivided attention. To add to the sphere of drama he even lowered his voice a bit. "Let's say, as soon as I have the contract back, signed by your dear wife, I'll set out, _personally_, to find your family the perfect vacation house on Majorca. How does that sound to you?"

Vernon's mouth dropped open, resting on his chins. He had hoped the man would catch his hint, but this offer was far beyond what he had believed he could wring out of this. "Vacation bungalow? In Majorca? With six rooms and a swimming pool in the garden and – and – everything?"

White nodded."Nothing less than your family deserves".

"Where do I send this?" Vernon responded eagerly, while he waved vigorously with the contract.

White smiled, handing Vernon his business card.

"I'll be in contact about the details. So good doing business with you."

After White had left, Vernon continued grinning like mad for a full hour. He even forgot to yell at anyone for the rest of the day.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	2. Meeting Mister White part 1

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Meeting Mister White****  
**_**Part 1**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The airport of Majorca was very crowded. Tourists and travel industry personnel were walking in every direction. _'A bit like an ant's nest,'_ mused Harry. He didn't voice his thoughts, as he was, at the moment pretending not to exist. Not because his aunt or uncle ordered him to do so, but by his own decision.

The trip from Surrey to the airport and the flight from there went as planned, however travelling had still been very exhausting. Aunt Petunia looked as if she'd fall asleep the minute she'd get the chance. Dudley was hanging on her hand like a child of six instead of sixteen. He had been whining for the last hour, for this and for that. At the moment he was going on about his Disk-man. He got it yesterday, especially to occupy him on the long trip. Harry of course had had to do without. Without anything really, for his uncle insisted he'd pack everything in his trunk. Harry had not even been able to smuggle his wand into his hand baggage. Vernon seemed to have been watching for that especially: _'Probably afraid I blow up the aircraft.'_

At least he had been able to take everything, even those things that his aunt and uncle disapprove off, namely anything magical.

Duddikins had managed to break the disk-man even before they arrived at the airport, and his strip books were falling apart when they boarded the aircraft, for after he had looked them through, Dudley had grown bored and decided to occupy himself, hitting Harry on the head with them.

_'So much for the warning the order gave them at Kings Cross Station,'_ Harry thought. The only difference he had seen, apart from the _smiles_, was his aunt and uncle telling Dudley off for his behaviour. Only, they did this in such a half-hearted way that Dudley took no note of it. _'Or maybe he is just too stupid to remember anything for more than a few minutes.'_

Harry still couldn't believe his luck. His uncle had done exceptionally good business this year; Finally allowing the Dursley's to obtain their dream bungalow in Majorca. When Harry had first heard about their plans for the summer holidays, he'd assumed that they would refuse to allow him to go with them. He had written to Ron with the news, hoping to get an invitation to stay with the Weasleys. He loved staying at the Weasley's; they were a big family and there was always something going on about the house. His friend Ron sometimes complained about his parents, but and Harry never really understood that. In his opinion they were the best parents anyone could have. Arthur Weasley was very funny and Molly was warm and loving and a great cook.

To Harry's utter amazement it turned out differently. "Of course we're taking you with us, silly boy", his aunt had said. He had almost felt welcome, for being included as a regular family member be, however the tone of her voice had been anything but welcoming

Harry was very exited about being in a foreign country; this was his first time leaving Britain. In the past he had listened to Hermione's tales about her travels with some jealousy. He had buried such feelings quickly and deeply, knowing that such things just weren't for the likes of him.

Harry feared he wouldn't see much of Majorca once they had settled into the vacationing Bungalow as he had had scarcely enough time to pack, eat and sleep the last week with his aunt working him like a house elf with all kind of chores. He trusted he would be able to sneak out though when the others would be on day trips. He'd have more fun on his own anyway. Once he wasn't so tired. Somehow, everything they normally made him do over the summer now had to be fit into one week. No surprise there, Harry would not expect the idea that they could do it themselves or have Dudley do some chores too to ever cross there minds. The holiday preparations had come on top of that. Being dead tired even before setting one foot out of bed this morning, he hoped the trip would allow him to get some rest. But no, not five minutes from home Dudley had already been bored with the stuff he got to entertain him on the journey and had reverted to his favourite hobby. Bullying Harry.

Blessed the stewardess who checked them in, giving both - "_The sweet young boys, flying for the first time are you?_"- window seats. Harry quite enjoyed the view, having never been so high up when flying his broom. The best part however was that he was seated behind Dudley. And therefore was relatively left alone.

The aeroplane television had shown a film about a bunch of children on a flying bed and a man who kept changing into a fluffy white bunny. Harry had enjoyed the luxury of watching a film from start to finish for the first time in his life.

Even more fun to watch had been Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's reactions.

Uncle Vernon turned more and more purple every time something unrealistic happened on the screen, grumbling under his breath.

Aunt Petunia hissed to him, _'it is only a story,_' every few minutes, but never breaking her stare from the gardening magazine on her lap. The article about the origin of Roses must have been very interesting; Aunt Petunia had apparently decided to memorize it, as she did not once turn the page.

This then was interlacedwith Dudley commanding them to be quiet, because _he_ was watching.

Best of all were Dudley's comments about the film: "Wow, see what he did, Dad?" "That is so cool, don't you think, Mum?" and Harry's favourite "I wish I could do that!" Aunt Petunia, while studiously ignoring the others, pursed her already thin lips _very _satisfying at that one. And the dark vengeful looks Uncle Vernon cast at Harry were hilarious, even though they meant there would be trouble later.

-o-O-o-

Harry snapped out of his musings when his uncle returned with the keys to the car he had rented for the holiday. The family set in motion, leaving Harry to follow them pushing the luggage cart

Aunt Petunia had tried to have harry pack the entire house into her trunks, not paying to mind that a fully equipped bungalow was waiting for her.

Dudley had tried to pack every single thing he owned and that was not yet broken into his bags, which at the moment happened to amount to quite a few, as his birthday has been only weeks ago. This year, because turning sixteen is ever so special, just as turning fifteen had been and turning seventeen no doubt will be to in his aunt and uncle's eyes. For _this particular_ very special birthday, Dudley had gotten around one hundred presents. Aunt Petunia had spent hours trying to convince her Duddikins only to pack his most favourite things. She had reasoned that they would have so much fun things to do once they were in Majorca and that he would not have time to play with any of his toys.

Harry had not been able to suppress the urge to point out the similarity between Duddikins' packing behaviour and his mother's. At first this had seemed to be a full blow on his aunt's wrong side, but an instant later she just smiled at him and encouraged him to be sure to pack all his belongings for the holiday. As this was the moment Harry learned that he was expected to join them, he had been too overwhelmed with the prospect, to pay due attention to the strangeness of his aunt and uncle wanting him to come with them.

Then his aunt had suggested to her son, none to subtly, that leaving his things behind would be the safest way to make sure Harry would not be able to reach them and consequently they would be safe from being broken. She had said it with such a so matter of effect air, that it gave Harry the creepy feeling that she actually believed them herself. Dudley had resigned to stow only so much in his two trunks as was possible and still be able to close the lid, even if it was only because he sat on them, showing off a main benefit of being the human equivalent of a killer whale.

Harry had seen aunt Petunia sneaking though Dudley's baggage, when Dudley had gone out to the streets with his gang to terrorize the neighbourhood's younger children. His aunt took about half of the playthings out again to replace them with some of Dudley's new clothes. Again, bought especially for the holidays because, "our Dudders must look as smart as any other young man visiting Majorca. Him being so handsome, he's sure to bring a girlfriend home." When she spotted Harry watching her she had smiled, _again_: "So handy to have you around boy. When my sweetest Duddikins discovers some of his things disappeared; who easier to blame for it than his freak cousin."

It must have been the bungalow that had his aunt and his uncle in such upbeat spirits. All the smiling they did at him had begun to get at Harry after the first few days. It just wasn't normal.

_'That my relatives would change so much after getting their heart's desire,' _Harry thought sarcastically, _'had I known I might have bought them a vacation house_ _myself_'. Although he would not have put it passed them to take the offer and still be horrible to him.

-o-O-o-

The car they arrive at rented was smaller than the one the Dursleys had at home, _'Vernon's business success, while finally allowing them to buy the vacation house, probably wasn't good enough to support another big expensive one for Majorca, or maybe theyreasoned that the neighbours wouldn't be there to see anyway.'_ Harry managed to pack the baggage in the back of the car, but only just. It took him quite some time to fit all of the luggage in, wishing he could just cast a few shrinking charms. His wand, unfortunately, was still in his trunk and uncle Vernon continued to watch him with hawk eyes every time he came near it. While his uncle enjoyed just watching him work, Dudley had a need for extra entertainment and tried to trip him as he carried each trunk. "Dudders do keep Harry in one piece will you," his uncle absent-mindedly told Dudley for the umpteenth time that day.

During the car ride uncle Vernon remained in good spirits even through his wife's haphazard way of giving directions, shouting things like: " Go this way, no, no, there. Oh, you missed it now." while pointing out of Uncle Vernon's range of view. Harry turned in his seat to look out off the window.

Everything in Majorca was different from anything he had ever seen, Muggle or Magic. The air on the island even _felt_ different. It was hot, not that it never got hot in Surrey, but that was only temporary, a few months a year at most. Here the air had the feeling of being perpetually hot. It smelt different too, of foreign cooking habits using seafood and spices. His aunt still looked exited. Maybe she hadn't noticed, or maybe she secretly liked the difference too? Harry wondered whether the different surroundings would bring to the surface another side of his family.

The buildings they passed were oddly shaped and very colourful. Some contained large mosaics of broken tiles that seemed to be randomly broken. A lot of them pictured flowers. Balconies and window-grills were made from ornamental ironwork, showing designs using flowers and plants. Too soon, for Harry's taste, they had left the city. But still there was a lot to see while they moved westwards. At the right hand side, where Harry was sitting behind Petunia, the land rose a little and he could see villages scattered upward and the land would then level to terraces. At the left there were cliffs and the sea... , then water as far as Harry can look.

Above the scenery, birds of prey that Harry couldn't recognise, were hoovering. In the plants along the road all kinds of small birds, in all the colours one can imagine, hopped and sang. Harry wondered whether the colourful bird that Sirius once used to send him messages when he was on the run would be amongst them. _'Sirius..._'

The plants themselves were different too, huge bushes surroundedthe houses, their tops full of pink flowers hanging over the streets. If someone had told him he had landed on a different planet, Harry might have believed it. He never knew other countries were really this different from Britain. He had just pictured them to be about the same, safe for the people speaking in some foreign language.

-o-O-o-

"And this is the street. Isn't it lovely," Harry heard his uncle saying.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	3. Meeting Mister White part 2

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Meeting Mister White****  
**_**Part 2**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"And this is the street. Isn't it lovely," Harry heard his uncle saying.

There were nice houses on both sides, each surrounded by its garden. The houses were much more expensive looking than Privet Drive, and much more impressive too. In front of the lane to one of the houses, of which the whose gate stood invitingly open, there was a really, _really_ big white car. A dark haired man in a slightly old fashioned business suit leaned casually against its bonnet. _'If these are the kind of people that live here the Dursleys arein way over their heads. They won't fit in. Their new neighbours will look down their noses at them. Although it's an experience I'm surethey can use,'_ Harry smirked to himself.

"Wow… that's a limousine, a real limousine!", wispered Dudley in awe, "that must be a really rich man, Dad."

"That would be Mister White, waiting to meet us," stated uncle Vernon while indicating the man leaning against the limo, "to give me the keys for the bungalow. He indeed is a very rich and well connected man and all of you will be on your best behaviour." , uncle Vernon's gaze swept through the car, resting last and longest on Harry.

"While I introduce my family to him, you get the bags out of the car."

Harry rolled his eyes., what was he, a bell boy? _'A man who drives a limo, waiting on uncle Vernon?To give him the keys to the house he bought? Weird_," Harry thought as he got the bags out of the car and set them down unto the house's driveway, as his uncle has ordered him to do

There were enough trunks to keep him occupied for a while. One is holding uncle Vernon clothes, another his laptop, so he can stay connected to the office while vacationing, for that purpose he also brought a trunk filled with folders. Still another trunk is holding aunt Petunia's clothes, and a special shaped one holds her toiletries and jet a third holds handy cleaning utensils and soap, things she feared were not yet known in the barbaric countries outside of Britain. She packed some books and magazines as well, for the three of them. One would think that by now she knew, that apart form work and school, she was the only one who read anything. Dudders has two bags. While Harry had only one bag, it was as heavy as the one with uncle Vernon's office folders, as he had all of his school books in it _plus_ the ones he had gotten last Christmas. The ones professor Lupin and Sirius had given him. _'No, better not think about that. Think about something else quick.,' _

The only thing that Harry owned that he hadn't been able to bring with him was Hedwig, his owl. Aunt Petunia had been very insistent that, "You simply _cannot_ take animals on international flights, especially not such filthy ones as owls.' Harry strongly doubted that, Muggles seemed to go on Holidays all the time, how would they otherwise take their animals with them, if the planes would not carry them. So he was convinced it was mainly his aunt being particular and fearfull of how their new neighbours would receive them. Therefore she didn't want to have any weird birds swooping around their bungalow in the end Harry had sent Hedwig of to Ron and told her to stay there.

-o-O-o-

"Mr. Potter, I presume?" Mr White addressed Harry, after he finished dragging the bags out of the car.

"Well, yes." Not the most intelligent reply, but Harry was at quite a loss to how he was supposed to react. When uncle Vernon had business relations around in the past, he always had been locked away.

"Please, take a seat,' the man said while his chauffeur held one of the doors open.

"Wha..?" Harry felt his mouth dropping open. He was supposed to get into a limousine?

"Why him, he's just a freak. I want to go," whined Dudley, just as choked as Harry was, only louder.

_'For once, he's actually right. This can't be right, the Dursleys would never let me near such an expensive car let alone invite me to sit in it.'_ "Why?" he asked Mr. White, amazed.

"Why? Well, because we're going for a ride, of course."

This didn't sit well with Harry, he didn't like his family, by any measure, but getting separated from them and going with some stranger... Moody would change him into a ferret and bounce him up and down until he could say 'constant vigilance' backward, upside-down and inside out if he ever found out. And he would be quite right to, in Harry's opinion. To stall, he asked; "Where would we be going?" Trying to keep his tone even. He heard his uncle snort, so he still must have sounded a little distrustful . _'Maybe Snape has a point and I really should learn to mask my emotions, at least so I can hide them when I wish want to.'_

Mr. White just smiled. "Mr. Potter, I would advise you to learn very quickly, some time around _now_, to obey without question or lagging, whenever I ask you to do something."

"Look, I don't know you, I don't know where we're going, and I cannot even be sure you are going to bring me back before... well... _ever_I see no reason to do anything just because you tell me to."

This only served to make Mr. White smile some more and have uncle Vernon watch them with great interest _and_ with a lot fair amount of glee on his face. All of it was getting really irritating. White smiled just like Malfoy did, only more. _Malfoysenior that is, the one that barks _and _bites. Better keep that in mind._

Mister White ignored Harry's statement while getting something from under his jacket. Suddenly Harry found himself looking into the hole of a honest to goodness, real life handgun.

"Would this help in giving you a reason, Mr. Potter?"

Harry twisted to address his uncle. "Uncle Vernon, you can't let him shoot me, there will be trouble with.. em... you-know-who." Harry felt quite awkward for his choice of words, but he couldn't think of another way of referring to the order members that had confronted his aunt and uncle at Kings Cross Station, without using the 'M'-word. He wasn't the only one to catch to double meaning, aunt Petunia had gone all white, as she liked her sheets to be, and was shaking so hard her husband had to support her.

White held up a hand to silence whatever uncle Vernon was going to say. "Mr. Potter, I don't intend to kill you. You'd be rather useless dead. And after all the trouble I went to I could not bear that." The stranger sounded _amused_, of all things. "Besides, all I have to do is to shoot you in your legs and drag you in the car. That would not be too inconvenient. However," he said making a face, "I would rather not get blood all over the interior if it can be avoided. And of course," Whites added as an after thought, "it would be rather painful, for you. But… if you insist.," he continued while lowering the gun to Harry's legs.

Harry's aunt and uncle stood looking undisturbed while White menacingly taunted their nephew. On the contrary, they seemed to be rather amused with his situation.

Harry lowered himself into the car, seeing no benefit in being wounded and unable to run. Only Dudley seemed not to enjoy it, looking at Harry green with envy. Harry, for his part would love to switch with Dudley. He thought better of stating such, not with the gun still pointed at him.

The chauffeur, who, until now, had kept to the side while having a smoke, as if such dealings like this were a normal everyday occurrence, heaved Harry's trunk into the back of the limousine.

_'At least my wand is still with me_ Although Harry would rather have it in his hands., _'Surely this would count as having to defend myself, but at least it is not left behind. I might be able to retrieve it later_

White seated himself next to Harry, still aiming the gun at him. Through the window of his locked door Harry saw aunt Petunia, broadly smiling at him and waiving "Goodbye Potter. Don't worry, we won't miss you, not for a moment."

Dudley, showing off his amazing intelligence and insight, was still whining that he wanted to go too, totally enamoured with first the limousine and then the - "real 9mm Glock 7, the only design of a ceramic gun in existence, undetectable by X-ray and ..."-. He seemed to contemplate getting into the car uninvited, but his father was holding him firmly by the arm.

"Fasten your safety belt, Mr. Potter., I don't want you unintentionally harmed during my watch."

'_Yeah like threatening to shoot me in my legs isn't harm.'_ But he did as he was asked, without really thinking about it, feeling a bit stunned by the shear weirdness of it all. Nothing ever happens along these lines with this family; they hated anything out of the ordinary.

The chauffeur pulled away from the pavement and the Dursleys actually kept waving and smiling until they were nearly out of sight, even though the vacation house must have been tempting, standing just behind them with the gate wide open. Harry supposed the minute it took for the limousine to drive out of view – with him in it, of course – was time they would think well spent.

The landscape that Harry had so admired on the ride from the airport glided by once more. Minutes passed in silence. White kept his 9mm ceramic Glock, (Harry blindly trusted big D's expertise on _this_ subject), aimed at him. The man took his time eyeing him up and down and left and right. Harry resolved to staying quiet and not squirming under the stranger investigating look and he. He succeeded... well mostly.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Author note:

The 'Ceramic Glock' is taken from a James Bond movie. It is off course physically impossible to make a functional gun from ceramic. Luckily, for White, none of the Durleys is sufficiently scientifically grounded for this to catch their attention.


	4. Meeting Mister White part 3

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Meeting Mister White****  
Part 3**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Can I trust you not to make trouble now? Holding this is getting a bit tiresome, and I long to wash the smell of your relatives out of my nose." White said indicating with the handgun.

He sounded a lot less like a criminal bastard now. _Maybe that's just because he is currently directing his nastiness at the Dursleys. Or maybe he's trying _good cop, bad cop_ on his lonesome._

Harry shrugs his shoulders. "I won't get anywhere in a riding car anyway."

Even if it would stop, Harry remembered hearing the doors go into central locking, locking his hope for a quick escape with them. He would feel a _lot_ better without a loaded weapon pointing at him. So when the stranger didn't react to his words, Harry added unwillingly, "Alright, I promise not to make trouble."

He sighed in relief when the handgun disappeared into one of the stranger's pockets.

"Half past three, perfect time for a cup off tea, don't you think?"

_Stopping for tea, any time would be perfect,_ thought Harry, followed by at least five different escape scenarios. Not wishing to look too eager, Harry just shrugged.

"You'll find, if you push the metal button on the left of the panel, yes that one. Now sit back and behold the wonders of technology."

Some place in the car that Harry had believed to be solid opened and some sort of machine came out.

"Get what you like and make me an espresso," ordered White.

When Harry only continued to look at the machine, White added, "You _do _know how to work a coffee machine do you? No?" White sounded honestly surprised when Harry shook his head, continuing to stare at the strange machine that one could apparently get to make coffee. It didn't look like the coffee machine in his aunt's kitchen. White launched into an explanation about the machine and the exclusive taste of Italian coffee. Several miles later Harry has been updated about the wonders of a modern coffee machine. While White enjoyed his espresso and amaretto bourbon, Harry got his first taste of cappuccino, chosen because the brew included milk. _Yuck. Horribly bitter_. After he added sugar, it lost its taste all together with only the awfulness remaining, making Harry wish he had stayed with tea. The chocolate with a fill of cerise was good, however. Better then anything Harry had ever stolen from his aunt. The chocolate was easily as good as Honeydukes' best and the fill had alcohol in it! Harry couldn't help but smile while savouring it.

"Ah, so you do have appreciation for the better things in life. You had me fearing you were a hopeless case. You've never had coffee before, have you?"

Shaking his head, Harry tentatively reached out for another bourbon and got an encouraging nod from the stranger.

"Taste in coffee is acquired; you'll gain appreciation of it in time. Just never put sugar in it again, will you?"

Encouraged by the stranger's talkativeness and the sweets --_Taking sweets from a stranger... better not think about what Moody would have to say about that_-- Harry decided that now was as good a time as any to voice his questions. "If you don't mind, sir, could you please tell me where we are headed? My aunt and uncle seemed to think I will not return to them for a while." _Better be as polite as possible with someone who has a gun within reach._

"A base for good taste and a rudiment for manners, my task is getting less impossible with the mile," White commented.

Harry pushed back an angry retort at the remark, so obviously meant to insult. He wanted answers; he'd better play White's game for a while.

"We are currently going back to Palma, where we will head to the harbour."

_Well, that's helpful._ Repressing the urge to roll his eyes at Whites answer, Harry specified, "I meant, where are we eventually headed?"

"To our graves off course, silly boy." Stopping for a moment to smirk at Harry's startled look, White then continued, "Eventually. For the time being we'll travel here and there. I hope you like travelling."

Ignoring White's question, Harry continued to ask, "Why did you take me?"

"Full of questions are you? Well, ask away, I'll answer those I choose."

_Only those he chooses. Well at least he's not pretending. _"Why are you taking me? How come my aunt and uncle agreed? They'd never let me do anything enjoyable, like eating bourbons. If –"

White decided to interrupt the steady stream of questions. "Your family doesn't know where I plan to take you; they didn't care to ask. I fear they have very little love for you."

_Wow, they don't love me. That's new,_ Harry thought sarcastically.

"They seem to have a preference for you to be miserable, something I allowed them to believe you would be. I warn you, I can make things very difficult for you, if you force me to." White paused for a moment studying Harry's reaction. Harry just glared at him. "Your uncle especially was very happy to part from you. I might have got you for free, even."

"Got me for free? You bought me or something?" _No way. That would be too much, even for the Dursleys._

"We made a deal: I got you, they got the bungalow."

"That is– Look, I don't like them but I have to stay with them. They are the only family I have left."

He couldn't possibly explain about the wards Dumbledore had set up. He didn't really understand them himself and he didn't really want to talk about magic. Perhaps Uncle Vernon had not mentioned it. Now that he thought about it, this was actually quite likely. His uncle would have feared White wouldn't want to take him if he knew about Harry's special talent. _Better not mention it; I need any edge I can have._

"I'll pay you back for the house." _Time to find out exactly what my Gringotts vault will cover_.

"But, my dear Mr. Potter, you do realise that a mere vacation bungalow is nothing compared to gaining your company. An absolute bargain."

_Right, he sure has his mind wired up in strange ways._ "You better bring me back though. The Dursleys' might not care, but I _do _have people who look after me."

"And those people leave you with _them_?"

"There's a good reason."

"Oh, is there? Have you decided that yourself or were you just told _it was all for the best_?"

After allowing Harry some time to digest that, White continued, "I am not worried about the Ministry of Magic, Dumbledore, or anyone either of them might sent to find us."

"You know Dumbledore?"

"He _is_ one of the most famous wizards alive."

"So you know about wizards and witches then? How – " _Oh hell! If he knows about magic— And he clearly isn't on our side. What if he's a Death Eater? No, he can't be! No pureblood wizard could hope to pass himself of as a rich businessman well enough to fool uncle Vernon. Maybe he's hired and he doesn't know what he is dealing with_...

"Whatever they promised you, don't count on getting it. I know a bit about the wizards you're working for and they'd kill you as soon as you hand me over. You'd better bring me to Dumbledore, he'll protect you against them."

"Kill me? The Dark Lord? Don't you think he'd be rather smitten with whomever was to bring him The-Boy-Who-Lived?" White said in much too smug a voice. "Now, no need to get all worried, Mr. Potter, you have nothing to fear," White added, seeing Harry had gone white as a sheet. Then White's frowned. "No that's not quite true. However, I do intend to keep you all to myself for the time being."

Not liking what he heard at all, Harry suppressed a shudder. "Aren't you afraid they will find us?"

"Those who never gamble will never know the thrill of winning."

_Right, _very _useful answer_. "How do you know about them?"

"The Dark Lord and the Death Eaters you mean? Well, they _did_ put an awful lot of effort in getting noticed."

"So how you know so much about the magical community?"

"My parents believed it an important part of my education to learn all about that particular subject. Driving us to tears of boredom, I might add. I have since learned to be very glad they did; the knowledge has been invaluable."

"Are you a wizard then? You don't use a wand. I mean you wouldn't need the gun if you had a wand."

"Just because one is able to do something doesn't mean that thing is appropriate for the situation or will wield the desirable results."

Harry thought deeply, trying to make sense of it. Magic would have made things easier for White, wouldn't it?

"Being seen using something associated with magic would have alienated me from your uncle, while I needed his co-operation." White explained. "So it wouldn't have been effective. Moreover, someone trained in the use of firearms can fire a bullet in a heartbeat, much quicker then one can throw a curse with a wand. Persons with magical ability, who can shoot with their left hand, can still cast spells with their right. This can be very effective. It does take practise, of course."

Harry did not immediately respond, but stared into the distance mentally picturing all the situations in with a handgun would certainly have been handy. For instance, when facing Voldemort in the Ministry.

"Are you interested in learning?" White asked suggestively, while pretending to brush some dust of his jacket. He wasn't looking at what he was doing, he was looking Harry in the eyes.

_White's eyes are very friendly, the eyes of someone one can trust,_ Harry thought._ Which is weird, because this is the same man who threatened to shoot me in the leg. It would be very handy to be able to use a gun. Would I be able to shoot a person? I don't feel like I can kill anyone with magic. Surely doing so with a gun is no different. Of course, killing some one with magic would mean using the Dark Arts, which is evil. Like casting Cruciatus on Bellatrix. Well, that didn't work because I didn't really want anyone in pain. But with a gun, it wouldn't matter whether I really want it or not. So it would be different than a Dark Arts curse? – What am I thinking? Who is this man? He doesn't seem to be Voldemort's , but he clearly isn't Dumbledore's. Someone from the ministry then? Are they trying to interfere again? Like with Umbridge? But he seems so competent, not at all like a ministry employee. Maybe he's a for-hire agent of a detective office or something. Do those even exist in the wizarding world? Is the stranger even a wizard? I haven't seen any magic or a wand. He hasn't really answered my questions about whether he is a wizard or not. Strange that I didn't get that immediately. The man knows so much about the wizarding world – maybe he's a squib then? If I can get away from him, he wouldn't be able to do a thing..._

Lost in his thoughts Harry shifts his gaze out of the window, not noticing the frown on Whites brow.

Harry, while looking out the window, pretended to be done asking questions and faked to drift to sleep. He was preparing to use his Quidditch-honed swiftness and seated himself so he could attack White and hopefully gain hold of the gun. Not that he knew how to use it, but he could bluff, couldn't he. Swiftly turning around...

Harry found himself looking into the barrel of the 9mm once more.

"You're ridiculously obvious, you know. Also, you don't seem to be able to keep a promise for more than an hour."

Harry blushed, but looked away in anger, considering his next move.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	5. Meeting Mister White part 4

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Meeting Mister White****  
**_**Part 4**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Harry would have preferred if they had stopped to have coffee, as 'going to a harbour' sounded like White was planning to take him aboard a ship. And then he would have no chance left to escape.

"I need to use a toilet." _And don't you tell me this car has one build in, and I only have to push some button again_, Harry continued in his thoughts.

White looked at Harry searchingly, not really seeming to believe him.

Shifting Harry found that it wasn't entirely a lie. "I really do need to use a toilet. Would you like piss on your benches better than blood?" Harry challenged.

"Very well, if you insist," sighed Mr. White, bending to the intercom to speak to the driver.

-o-O-o-

They stopped at a gas station, where Harry was let out the car to visit the toilets. _Alone!_ Harry could hardly believe his luck. Even better, the toilets were at the back of the station, so he needed to go out of sight of the car. Harry quickly decided he could piss somewhere later and use the time until White went looking for him to gain as much distance on him as possible.

_Now where to go... Sea... Road... Cliffs..._

After a panicked search of the cliffs behind to station for some way up, Harry at last found a little path. It was small and stony, and half-overgrown with bushes._ Perfect, I'll have cover while walking it and with luck, White will never find it. And if he does, he wouldn't want to mess up his suit to try to follow me, _Harry thought, while he followed the path upwards as fast as he could.

After several minutes he had to stop to catch his breath and answer the call of nature. He might have stopped for longer, to enjoy the beautiful view of the seashore meeting the cliffs and the flowers and bushes clinging to the rocks, giving shade to the many small animals living between the rocks, had he not been in such a hurry and if it weren't so damn hot.

-o-O-o-

After what seemed like hours (in reality it had probably been a lot shorter, as the sun was still high and still burning hot), Harry reached to top of the cliff. He was tired and _very_ thirsty.

On top of the cliff stood a lone little church. Heaven sent. _They have to have some water there,_ thought Harry while he walked to it. _And maybe a telephone – I can call Hermione!_

When he rounded the churches' corner to get to it's front, Harry was greeted with a _very_ unwelcome sight. Parked before the church was a limo, a familiar white limo and guess who was sitting on it's bonnet, holding some sort of soda drink and happily smiling at Harry...

_Oh no! _

"Ah, Mr. Potter, had a nice walk? It is really _breathtaking_ here, is it not?" White said, sweeping his arms to indicate the view, and casually showing the gun he was once again holding.

To tired to make a run for it and having nowhere to go, Harry yielded and climbed back in the car. Harry glared at White when the man handed him a glass with the same soda drink he was having himself.

_Can't that bastard at least wipe that smirk of his face_? Harry thought as the car pulled up again.

-o-O-o-

With Harry lost in thought, forming new escape scenario's, the land rolled by. Soon they were in the city, where the driver parked the car neat the edge of the harbour.

White addressed him. "Mr. Potter" I'd really love to get something to eat, wouldn't you?" The sun was setting and Harry felt very hungry. Not to mention the many restaurants overlooking the harbour gave off amazing smells.

So Harry nodded his consent enthusiastically.

"Oh, and can I trust you than not to start trouble, trying to run away or some such foolishness..."

"Of course," Harry assured.

"You promise?"

"I promise." _I am certainly not going anywhere_ before _I have had something to eat._

"Pity I can't eat within the hour, then."

_What is he going on about? So he's a slow eater – we'll eat longer. It isn't as if I will steal the food off his damn plate; that would be Dudley._

The puzzlement must have shown on his face, for White obviously had caught on to Harry's confusion and was giving him that nasty Malfoy-like smirk again. "Why, Mr. Potter, as we have already established, your promises will last an hour at the most. So, we'll have to do without proper meals until I can arrange one somewhere more secure or less tempting."

_No food... I can see now how this man can be friends with uncle Vernon. I am feeling right at home._

"Unhappy?"

"I don't like you!"

"Because I judge you by your behaviour?"

Harry started to think up an angry reply, when the words hit him. He felt a blush creeping up is neck and cheeks. He indeed had not intended to keep his promise, but then again...

"How can you expect me to be honest with you – you abducted me. Of course I'm going to look for opportunities to get away."

"I abducted you?" White sounded astonished, an over the top astonished, like some sort of bad vaudeville actor. White tipped his lips with his index finger. "Yes, I suppose you could interpret the situation that way. May I suggest an alternative way of viewing our little adventure? I promise it will be mush more fun."

Harry honestly didn't see how looking at something differently would change the fact that he had been abducted by a total stranger, an _armed_ stranger at that. He voiced that thought.

"But it isn't a fact that you were abducted, is it?"

"Of course it is," Harry argued.

White sighed. "You are confusing facts with the meaning you give them."

Seeing Harry's sceptical look, White tried another angle. "I look at the fact that I took you from your family more along the lines of me being the prince on the white horse." At which White fondly patted his car and continued, "who rescued you from the dangerous long-necked dragon, her consort the balloon-sized hairy back dragon, and their spawn."

This would have been very funny, had Harry any indication that the man was joking. Unfortunately, he seemed utterly serious. _Scary, what if he is mad or something? An armed man is worse enough without him being mad, too_. "Whatever," Harry said, mainly to pacify the man. Hoping that White just had some weird sense of humour, Harry decided to try some humour himself, to relax himself a bit. "As long as you don't expect me to kiss you or anything."

At this, White launched into real laughter, crooning while waggling his index finger at Harry. "Aww, you're just playing hard to get."

_Thank Merlin. He _was_ joking after all. He really knows how to act. Maybe he's an actor; that would explain the limo... _Not that Harry could picture uncle Vernon being friendly with an actor.

-o-O-o-

"You will get out off the car, get your trunk and walk slightly ahead of me," White instructed.

"Where are we going?"

"You will follow my directions." Seeing the stubborn look forming on Harry's face, White continued, "And don't you try anything funny – my offer about the bullet in your legs still stands."

Scowling, but not seeing another option, Harry followed the given instructions. The sun was sitting very low in the heavens now, casting long shadows. The city seemed even more alive than during the heat of the day. Overlooking the harbour and the bay, Harry spotted restaurants and café terraces everywhere, each trying to appear more cosy-lighted, playing nicer music and offering better food then their neighbours. But all paled before the huge cathedral standing higher on the slope. Further into the heart of the city, it was artfully lighted with spotlights on the outside, placed for maximum impact. It was this building that held Harry's attention as he got out into the evening air and walked along the pier with his trunk.

When they had passed all the ships that lay in the harbour, Harry began to wonder whether they would walk right into the water. _Maybe the ship is invisible. Or maybe it's under a Fidelius charm. Merlin, how will the Order ever find me if it is?_

"Stop!"

_He's going to reveal the secret now. Would he be Secret Keeper himself? Can a squib be one? How many people are in on this?_

"Stand here, on this board of wood; put your trunk beside you".

The board White was indicating was wider than most of the others that made up the landing they were standing on. It was wide enough to fit Harry's trunk on it. This was probably important in some way, for White checked it thoroughly. He asked Harry whether he disliked his heels, as he had them sticking over the edge of the board. When he was satisfied with Harry's position, White went to stand next to him. Then he leaned his hand on a pole and started singing.

_French? It does sound like the language that the Beauxbatons students spoke amongst each other._ Harry blinked from the sudden breeze that hit him, and when he opened his eyes again, instead of the sea, they were looking out to they are looking into a city. Feeling something was off, Harry searched for the cathedral he had been admiring only to find it gone. There was only one explanation; they suddenly were in a different city than the one they had been in but a moment before.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	6. Wayward Wards part 1

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Wayward Wards****  
**_**Part 1**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

They walked several blocks, past shops, restaurants and hotels, always keeping side of the sea..., _no lake, _Harry corrected himself. He could clearly see the other side. Luckily, by following the waterline, the path remained slopeless, which was good, for the arm with which Harry was trolleying his suitcase was threatening to fall off. Harry eyed the side streets warily; all went up hill, one steeper than the other.

Harry signed in relief when they entered the garden in front of one of the hotels directly alongside the boulevard. The hotel looked quite grand, viewing the lake and sporting all marble and thick carpets. While Harry was fine with the view and couldn't care about the marble, the carpets meant instant war. Whoever put them there was clearly unfamiliar with the concept of trolleys. Luckily, the personnel included a bellboy who rusted to relieve Harry of his suitcase. Somehow, he managed to roll it on its little wheels as if the carpet was as flat as the marble walls. _Practice, probably_, thought Harry, who, relieved of this burden, took in a view of the lobby. It was nicely furnished, with small settees and paintings – unmoving, Muggle ones, Harry saw in relief. The strange way they moved from one dock to another had to be magic. But squibs could use the Floo, too, couldn't they? Thinking about it, Harry realized that he honestly didn't have the slightest idea. Could they use a broom? He vaguely remembered an offhand remark from Madam Hooch about their brooms responding to their magic, during first year flying lessons. Portkeys, he remembered Mr Weasley telling him, would even work for Muggles.

"Ah, bonjour seigneur Blanche. Est-il votre cousin?"

"Bonjour Pierre, mon cousin anglais, oui. Il ne parle pas le Français."

"Ah, désolé. Lui souhaiter un bon séjour pour moi."

"Je lui dirai tes bons souhaits. Je te remercie dans son endroit."

Harry had been looking questioningly from White to the receptionist during the exchange. Now White turned to him. "That would be Pierre. He wished my cousin, that would be you, a good stay here," he said while steering Harry to the elevator.

"I am not your cousin."

"Of course you are, Thomas, you must be confused by the exhausting trip."

"My name is Harry."

"Don't be silly, child. You cannot use that for a name."

"Of course I can!" exclaimed Harry. It was lucky that the elevator doors had just closed, so nobody noticed the scene he was making.

"As soon as it is noticed you're no longer with your relatives, it will be _Harry_ people will be looking for."

"Good reason to use it!" Harry shouted.

"You want to be found?" White actually sounded astonished.

'_How can he possibly think I would aid him in keeping me hidden. Stupid man_,' Harry thought, rolling his eyes.

"Oh well, if that is the case, you'd better give me the Dark Lord's phone number," stated White as calmly as he had been during the whole conversation.

"What?" exclaimed Harry, just as the elevator doors opened.

"Well, that would be easiest, would it not? Or do you like playing hide and seek?"

'_Voldemort,'_ Harry shuddered, _'better not be found at all, than by him. Shit.'_

"Wizards don't use the phone, we use owls instead," Harry stated, not yet wanting to give in.

"Owls? Oh no I fear that is not an option. I could not ask some poor bird to fly all the way across the English Channel. Well, if the man does not have the sense to get himself a telephone, I fear I cannot help it."

"Electronic devices don't work around magic," explained Harry while White held the hotel room door open for him, thinking, _'He doesn't know as much as he thinks he does.'_

"Don't they? Whoever told you that conservative nonsense?"

"Well, they just don't!" _'_Everyone _knows that_,' Harry added silently.

"So say the same backward pureblood isolationists who are still afraid of the Wizarding Wireless's corrupting influence," added White, eliciting an incredulous look from Harry.

"You mean it isn't true?"

"Did you not fly a car to school some years past?"

"How do you know that?" Harry exclaimed.

"I do what I can to keep myself informed," answered White with one of his mysterious smiles.

"Good, Thomas," he continued, while picking something from the dresser.

"I am not going to be called Thomas," interrupted Harry.

"Why ever not? It is as good a name as any."

"No, it isn't. It's Voldemort's name."

"I see." Then White's smile grew wider. "It's better than any other."

"What? Didn't you say you didn't like Lord Voldemort?" shouted Harry in alarm.

White sighed as he set himself to explain the obvious. "Tell me, who, apart from the Quibbler's editor, do you think would connect a boy sporting the Dark Lord's given name with The-Boy-Who-Lived?"

"I don't like it," Harry said petulantly.

"Precisely my point. You do not speak French at all?" asked White.

"No. How should I?" Harry countered defensively, thrown off balance by the sudden change of topic.

"Any other languages?"

_"English,"_ came Harry's annoyed answer.

"Beside English and Latin," White qualified, his voice gaining a terse tone.

"I don't speak Latin," Harry argued.

While looked astonished. "But of course you speak Latin, all wizards of any significance speak Latin. It is the basis of all western wand magic."

"I can do spells," stated Harry irritated. "I could show you; I'll get my wand from the case." Harry added coaxingly while making his way to his suitcase, which had already been waiting in the room.

"That will not be necessary," White said, placing himself between Harry and the suitcase.

"You mean to tell me you never formally learned Latin?" White asked.

"No – it is not necessary for learning spells. Otherwise Hogwarts would have classes for it," Harry explained.

White frowned. "Hogwarts, of course not, your Muggle school would have taught it."

At Harry's astonished look he continued, "Or it would have, had your Aunt and Uncle taken the trouble to send you to a decent one. Which, evidently, they had not. Well, we'll have to remedy that."

"You are not planning to sent me to primary school again, are you?" Harry asked warily, fearing that might be just the thing he could expect from the slightly unhinged man White seemed to be, in his experience.

When White shook his head, Harry sighed in relief.

"Keep this with you." Abruptly changing the subject again, White handed Harry the hotel's business card, which he had picked up from the dresser. "Show it to a taxi driver should you get lost."

"I'll need money to pay him," Harry said quickly, silently adding, '_money I can use to escape you_.'

"No, you don't, not with a card from this hotel. Any driver will be happy to reunite a lost little boy with his family, if they are staying here. In case you have not noticed, it is slightly pricey to lodge here. You go take a bath." White finished the conversation pointing at one of the side doors.

"Oh, and Thomas?" White called after him, "I am known as René Blanche here."

-o-O-o-

After closing the door behind him, Harry stopped to gape at the bathroom. It was easily as big as his bedroom at the Dursleys. And the taps...they couldn't _really_ be gold, could they? Unfortunately, the window turned out just a bit too small for him to squeeze through. ' _I'd like to have had my trunk with me, anyway,' _thought Harry while stripping and turning the taps for water on. _'Or at the very least my wand_. _And my father's invisibility cloak_,' added Harry to himself. '_I could wear it so no one would see me leaving. The personnel here seem to be much too friendly with White. They might warn him if they see me leaving_. _Oh and my photo book, of course – but Hagrid might be able to replace that. The Marauders Map, that is irreplaceable ,_ _my dad, Remus and Sirius put... Sirius... My broom! And the defense books... That would be likely half my trunk,_' thought Harry with alarm. '_Fine, I'll just have to find a way to take my trunk!' _

-o-O-o-

Harry left the bathroom in a dressing gown embossed with the name of the hotel. He had found it in the bathroom and greatly preferred it to his smelly clothes. He didn't feel quite comfortable, though, like when he didn't wear trousers under his robes, but he hadn't wanted to ask White to hand him clothes. He didn't want the man anywhere near his stuff.

So he definitely did not like the scene that he walked into...

"Would you mind replacing your trunk? This one is almost falling apart," White commented.

Harry just stared.

Mr White – Blanche – whatever he wanted to call himself; Harry no longer believed either name came close to the man's real identity – had got his hands on Harry' s stuff. As indicated by the heap of clothes on the floor and the open truck on the bed, he had gone through them quite thoroughly. Harry hurried over and spotted his school robes, his books and a few knick-knacks repacked orderly into his trunk. Rummaging through it he also spotted the photo book Hagrid had made him. His wand, broom and invisibility cloak however, where nowhere to be seen.

"That's my stuff!" Harry yelled, furious.

"That does not mean it has to be such a mess," stated Blanche. "You will pack your trunk again. Properly."

Harry chose to ignore this and took a deep breath in order to start ranting about the missing things. Blanche however had shifted his attention to the clothes on the floor.

"You need new clothes. You cannot wear your Hogwarts robes and hope to pass as a Muggle. And the rest of this displays an utter lack of taste. Not to mention that the size seems to be a bit…off," continued Blanche, wrinkling his nose at the heap that obviously disgusted him.

"I need something to wear."

"You can't have been planning on wearing that. What ever happened to it? Have you been experimenting with tailoring charms? Well, I am sorry to tell you, but you clearly have no talent there. I do hope you did not wish to pursue a career in tailoring. However, such a career would allow your other talents to go to waste, so I am happy you lack this one."

Harry tried to wrap his mind about the last statement. Tailoring charms, why had he never though about that?He could have had clothes that fit! Resizing the lot at Hogwarts, he would not have broken the laws about underage sorcery. And he could have flaunted his magic in the Dursley's faces during the summer, without the need to even mention the "m" word.

"You will seek out an ensemble that fits you best. Bin the rest of the lot. Tomorrow will be spent shopping," ordered Blanche.

Harry, not liking to be ordered around, crossed his arms and glared at Blanche, who had settled himself in one of the velvet armchairs, smiling slightly.

Minutes stretched. White stayed cool and collected, his smile increasing ever so slightly as Harry got more and more annoyed, all the while he and Blanche continued staring at each other.

Their staring match was broken when someone knocked on the door.

"Entrer," said Blanche, rising from the velvet armchair he had been sitting in.

Harry spun on his heels, apprehensive about whoever might walk though. Blanche seemed to expect them. Had Blanche contacted whoever had hired him while he had been in the shower? '_Shit, I'm not even clothed_,' thought Harry, scanning the room for escape routes.

Harry's paranoia proved to be uncalled for, as the open door revealed a young woman pushing a food trolley.

"Ah, our dinner. I hope you like your steak rare? Merci beaucoup, Cathérine. Et bon soir," White said, shifting his attention from Harry to the hotel servant.

"Bon soir, seigneur Blanche et bonne appétit." With a curtsy, the woman left, leaving the trolley from which came the most welcoming smells of a hot meal.

After they had eaten, in a most uncomfortable silence, Blanche directed Harry into one of the side rooms to get settled for the night. Tired, and his stomach blessedly full, Harry was tempted to get into the bed and sleep. But there was this window, it opened and revealed their room to be only on the first floor...

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Author Note:  
The normal way to address a man in French is _monsieur_ and that _seigneur_ is reserved for nobles. My choice is deliberate and not a translation mistake.


	7. Wayward Wards part 2

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Wayward Wards****  
**_**Part 2**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Harry had been walking for what felt like hours. Of course, he had already been exhausted, and while he had welcomed the meal, it now only served to make him even more drowsy.

He was quite sure he had seen this particular corner before, more than once, actually.

In reality, he had probably only walked for an hour at most, as it was still not yet dusk.

Trouble was, he had no idea where in the city he was, or even in _which_ city he was. Apart from it being in somewhere in France, judging from the language he heard around him, which sounded like what the Beauxbatons students had spoken when they had been talking amongst each other.

He was trying to find a telephone booth, but they didn't seem to have those here in France.

Harry had been starting to get desperate and had begun toying with the idea to walk back to the lake and to try his luck at 'harbour-pole-travel', for lack of a better name. He hadn't the slightest idea what his abductor had been singing, but if it worked anything like the Floo-network, he would end up _somewhere_ else. And _anywhere _away from White would be good.

He had been heading down already, believing that one way or the other, as long as he walked downwards, he would end up at the lake again, until he remembered the details of his Floo adventure, _especially_ the part where he had ended in Knockturn Alley. Which was _not_, by any comparison, a good place for him to be, late in the evening with Voldemort once again leading Britain's darker wizards. As he sat down on a truck to decide what to do next, he looked straight at a building that could only be a train station.

With renewed energy, Harry walked into the station, looking around at the destinations on the bulletin boards, hoping to find a city name he recognised. To his chagrin Harry realized he had no idea which cities had a Wizarding population apart from London. He could only assume it would be the capitals of countries; luckily he had learned those in primary school. Unfortunately, while trying to dig them up from his memory, he had found he had forgotten most of them. Germany had two he remembered, one of which being Berlin, and the capital of France would be Paris.

He tried to find one on the boards... '_Basel... Bern... Geneva... those all sounded familiar'_, but they where not capitals as far as he recalled... '_Biel._.. 'that city, Harry was quite sure, he had never even heard of before... '_Barcelona... a city somewhere in Spain, possessing a good soccer team according to Dean Thomas... he must be somewhere in the south of France then...Dijon Ville... and, __yes__, Paris...Platform number 5... leaving in 24 minutes..._ 'plenty of time, Harry found, to sneak into one of the cargo wagons.

'_Now_', Harry thought when he had hidden himself, '_I only need to find a way to cross the channel, get to London, and use the Floo from the Leaky Cauldron to get to the Weasleys. Or maybe I walk to the ministry and try to find Tonks or Shacklebolt.'_ This might be a better idea; the Aurors could then go hunting down the creepy trigger-happy bastard White immediately. Alternatively, he could go to the French ministry in Paris, and report to the Aurors there – '_no, better not'_. He didn't know how to go about finding the place; its entrances were probably hidden like the London ones. _'Besides, I won't know whom to trust; Voldemort might be recruiting on the mainland too.' _

With all these thoughts running through his head, Harry, exhausted, finally fell asleep.

-o-O-o-

By the time Harry had woken, the sun had already risen but the train still hadn't arrived. There had been some shifts in the luggage, so it seemed someone had come in. It had amazed Harry that they had seen him and called him to task. He couldn't have been doing accidental magic to hide himself. If he had, there would have been an owl from the _Improper Use of Magic Office_ by now. Harry almost felt sorry about that as he _definitely_ did not want to face another hearing, but he suspected the ministry not to go that far now that Voldemort was _officially_ back. Now that he had thought of it, they would probably react like they did when he blew up his aunt the summer that Sirius had just escaped.

'_If only __Sirius __could have abducted me and taken me to wherever he fled with Buckbeak. I'd be with him, then. Voldemort could not have tricked me. Hell, Sirius would have found a way to teach me Occlumency; the Marauders where animagi when they were my age. He and my dad must truly have been brilliant! Or better, that whole Triwizard-tripe would not have happened. Or it would have, but without me. And that __rat__ would not have been forced out, so he would still be eating Ron's __Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans__ and sleeping all day. Snakeface would still be a shadow! We would not need to bother with Occlumency. Sirius would be teaching me to be an animagus instead._'

This was the first time since the happenings at the ministry that Harry had been totally alone, without _any_ chance of _anyone_ walking in on him, without anything to distract him from his thoughts. Also, the happenings at the ministry, especially the part about Sirius ending up dead, had been long enough ago to become real. It really couldn't be a nightmare that he soon would be waking up from any more, or some misunderstanding about the veil or whatever else... Pictures of times together that they'd never had and never would have, gathering before Harry's mind's eye... finally..., Harry gave in and cried.

-o-O-o-

By the time he hearth a city name called over the intercom, '_Vallorbe_' or something like it, Harry's tears had run out and he was staring numbly at the wall.

The train had stopped and the door had opened. Some railway people had got part of the luggage out, studiously ignoring Harry. They even seemed to be giving him several opportunities to sneak out. '_Weird people those French_', but Harry wasn't going to complain.

He had wondered how much further Paris could be, France wasn't that big, was it? The next station had seemed to be '_Vallorbe_' again. _'Maybe this is French for station or arriving or something.'_

As time had passed, Harry had become hungry, thirsty and in need of relief. Eventually, the intercom went of again, it had said '_Lausanne_' this time, so maybe the system was calling city names after all. Harry began to wish Hogwarts had thought a bit of geography, not that he had had time left for yet another thing to study, but he would have liked to know how far this Lausanne was from Paris.

This time, the men took all of the luggage out and when he had again not moved, they had gave him pointed stares. They had left the cargo wagon door open after they finished. The trains' engine had stopped at some point, Harry realised belatedly, and the lights had gone out. As the train hadn't seemed to get moving any time soon, Harry had poked his head out of the wagon.

He was greeted by a _very_ familiar sight. Looking up, Harry saw that it was now one o'clock. _Midday_... and Harry had been standing in the train for Paris, leaving around eight in the evening, according to the stations' board. _Again_.

'_Just my luck._'

-o-O-o-

Walking out if the station Harry went on to search for a place to eat, taking good care to remember the streets he passed through so he would be able to find the station back in time for the evening train.

'_Maybe I should buy an alarm. It would not do to miss Paris again,_' mused Harry as he came upon a square with terraces. He had been searching for a food store, but his luck had not caught up with him yet. '_Well, I could probably cover lunching out_,' thought Harry, grabbing the coins he head been keeping in this pocked, '_Oh, bloody hell... galleons ... I only have __wizard__ money._'

For a moment he contemplated continuing his quest for a food store to steal his lunch. But, ultimately, Harry decided not to. Not so much because it would be _wrong_ as it would be practically impossible to get away while dragging his truck along.

Harry passed several terraces, deep in thought. Then a familiar voice had startled him; it had come from one of the tables: "Ah, _Thomas_, just in time for lunch."

'_White! How __did __he find me?_' Harry silently swore while looking over to the man, who was lounging in the sun. White was sharing his table with another man, who had a parrot on his shoulder.

'_A wizard maybe?_' Harry contemplated to make a run for it, but decided not to risk being shot at, '_– or __cursed__, for that matter_'. So he had sat down and took the menu White passed him.

"Allow me to introduce my new protégé," White addressed the other man, who looked somewhat like a mix between a cowboy and a pirate in his tight jeans, leather boots, Indian style jacket and the parrot on his shoulder.

'_He doesn't seem the type the oh-so-lofty White would associate with, much too arty.' _

'_Or maybe parrot-man is Whites wizarding contact, and he thinks this is what a Muggle might wear._'

Harry had seen the odd ideas wizards and witches could have about Muggle dress styles. The man at the World Cup who walked around in a woman's nightgown, for instance. Parrot-man could pass as a Muggle, Harry had to give him that. He would be considered eccentric, but not totally off the scale. He could just be a Muggle friend of White's. On the other hand, parrot-man clearly understood English and how many French men would? '_This is so frustrating. I wish White would just tell me what he wands me for and get things over with.'_

Parrot-man clearly wasn't British, when he had answered; his heavy American accent was all to clear, _painfully_ so. Unfortunately, what he said did not give Harry any chance to be relieved at all.

"Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived, I am not _totally _oblivious, Renard."

White didn't give any indication that anything was amiss.

"Please meet my cousin, Thomas."

"_Really_? You should do something about that scar then, and those awful spectacles he wears; you wouldn't want to get him mixed up with some hunted celebrity," parrot-man answered a tad sarcastically. "Have you decided on a family name for him yet?"

"Not yet, I waited till I met the expert. Any suggestions?" White bantered, completely ignoring the fact that the other clearly did not believe his denial that his _cousin _was indeed Harry Potter.

Harry himself was fuming behind the menu; he didn't like the way they where talking over his head. He disliked White acting so comfortably; he liked the fact that the other knew Harry identity even less. Or that anyone who saw him could so easily recognise him.

'_White probably plans to shoot any dark wizard who shows up_,' Harry thought. '_Come to think of it, that might not be such a bad idea. Voldemort might not truly die after being shot, but his body might and then he would be a cloud of vapour again.' _

White _had_ all but offered him to teach him how to use a gun during the limousine ride.

'_I might as well take him up at it – until I find a way to leave, of course_,' Harry added hastily.

The two men had been trying out family names: ' _Miller_' and '_Smith_' had been parrot-man's latest suggestions.

"Very inconspicuous, however I have families with these names. It wouldn't do, to use one of them like this," White replied to that.

"Any suggestions Thomas?" The parrot-man had finally addressed Harry, stressing _Thomas_ and winking at him like they were planning a prank.

It had only served to irk Harry even more.

"So kind of you to ask me." Harry had wanted this to sound sugary-sweet, and for once had entirely succeeded, causing the parrot-man to eye him more thoughtfully.

"This one might actually be worthy of your time," the parrot-man said to White, then, in a merry tone, he continued, "I suggest you invoke the magic of name giving and baptise him _Fox_."

'_Magic of name giving?_' Harry had never heard of that.

White looked thoughtful, but then seemed to reach a conclusion, and continued the introduction. "As I said, my _cousin_ Thomas Fox. Thomas this is Mr. Black."

This last caused Harry to jolt up straight. '_Could this man be possibly related to Sirius?'_ Then he caught himself; the man had a most horrible American accent and might even be a Muggle. '_Coincidence, nothing more_.'

"Call me Jason, Thomas," the parrot-man said, sounding so kind, it was almost like he had been able to guess the cause of Harry's distress.

Harry might have warmed up to '_Jason_' after this, had the man not bowed over to White and whispered in his ear – something that included words like '_disturbed_' and '_psychologist_', from what Harry was able to catch.

When the waiter came, Harry still had no idea about the menu, so he just pointed at the most expensive item. He knew that this probably wouldn't make a difference for White, but that didn't stop Harry from trying.

-o-O-o-

"Did you have a nice trip?" White asked Harry when their plates arrived.

In response Harry glared at him over his orange juice. The man didn't look impressed by this.

"Where you planning to repeat taking on of your own like this?" White asked further.

"No, I was planning to be gone and _not_ come back, next time" Harry had retorted frustrated, both at being caught and at White's blasé manner over his failed attempts to escape.

"I fear that won't be possible," White replied, with such a tone that made it clear he wasn't in the least feeling sorry for Harry.

"I don't see why not!" Harry retorted, thinking, '_If he is a wizard, might be using a spell of some sort, to know where I am headed. And then wait form me there. It does fit with both tries. I need to get him to let something slip.'_

White, maybe in the hope of discouraging Harry form further attempts to run away, explained: "That would be because of the wards your _dear_ headmaster build upon your mothers sacrifice; they changed their anchor from your aunt to me."

"I don't care; I'll be fine without those damn wards." Well, that wasn't entirely true, but Harry certainly wasn't planning on giving up his efforts at escaping just because of those wards. From a certain angle, White's announcement, if it was true of course, could even been regarded as good news; he would no longer be forced to return to his aunt and uncle if they no longer anchored the wards. '_Those wards don't do much to keep Voldemort out of my head, anyway.'_

White, however, held a different opinion. "I beg to differ, however it is of no consequence. You see, after you ran away when you where twelve, the wards where adapted. To _protect _you from trying such a thing again." White said, making it obvious what he thought about said protection, "The adaptation serves to make you move in circles. This guarantees you being safely back at the starting point within the day. Since the change in their focus, this means you will be back with me. Convenient, isn't it?" White finished with a smug smile.

"WHAT!?" Harry's voice, while loud, barely made it over the laughter the parrot-man broke into upon hearing this.

"Sweet Eris' Apple! You snatched _the-boy-who-lived_ from under the great Dumbledore's nose. And are using his own ward work to keep your catch tied to you. Renard! You truly are the fox you're named after."

"Why, thank you, Jason." White took the compliment with a haughty inclination of this head, "I am quite proud of it myself. One of my better schemes, surely."

Jason-parrot-man was still chuckling. "Oh, I don't know about that, causing that Polish jerk to willingly allow himself to be dissected, was quite the feat, too."

Harry, who had been fuming, turned pale at hearing this. '_Surely __that__ couldn't be true. White might be nasty enough, but no one would actually allow... __eww_

White's reply, however, sounded disturbingly serious. "It would never have come to that, had he been a less obstinate. Or if he had not tried to deceive me in the first place. Nevertheless, I must say the result goes a long way to deterring others from trying."

"You could just have gone to the Aurors.. eh - I mean the police, you know." Harry, though not one to follow rules himself, felt that one should, instead of killing someone.

White wasn't impressed. "They would not have compensated my losses, boy. Not even if the business had been entirely above the counter."

_'Oh, great, abducted by one who has murdered at least once and deals in shady trade. I __will__ find a way to warn the order, even if I fail to leave myself_.' Harry thought. He decided to have a go for some more information about the wards. "How did you get the wards to focus on you now?"

White was again forthcoming: "That did not prove to be difficult at all; your aunt and uncle consented that I take you."

Well, _that_ didn't surprise Harry; he had never been welcome there. White's thoughts appeared to go in the same direction. "You are lucky that _I_ decided to take an interest in you, you know. It could have been _anybody_."

'_Anybody__. That __is__ a chilling thought_,' Harry had to grant White.

"Ah yes, and there is no one quite like René here," the parrot-man added. "You'd better not disappoint him, though. He will not allow you."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Author note:  
White said: "Very inconspicuous, however _I have families_ with these names. It wouldn't do, to use one of them like this," White replied to that.  
This is _not_ a grammar mistake; White is saying _exactly_ what he means to say. Harry is not hearing it though; he is too busy with being peeved about Jason's comment, to listen closely enough. White is hoping that Harry doesn't catch his meaning while Jason will, if Harry weren't in earshot White might have used something more like _own_ instead of _have_.


	8. Summer Holiday Stress part 1

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Summer Holiday Stress****  
**_**Part 1**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

To be taken shopping... to be bought clothes that fit... that were purchased for especially for him... all new...; If someone had asked whether Harry would have liked that, he would have responded in the positive. The idea alone would have him thrilled.

Standing in the little dressing room of the store White had taken him to, however, Harry most definitely did_ not_ feel thrilled.

Yes, the clothing fit. Yes, it was new. And, yes, it was of very good quality, as far as Harry was able to judge such things being not at all experienced in buying clothes apart from the standard Hogwarts robes.

The experience would have been perfect, but for two things: White and White. In the first place the man had a _horrid_ taste, which he insisted on inflicting on Harry. Secondly, he was _very_ overbearing about the whole thing. Blue was blue, wasn't it? Then why would one try a dozen different shades of it? Or worse, half a dozen pieces in the same shade, with slightly different _stripes_.

White insisted that this particular piece suited him better that that other particular piece while Harry couldn't have told them apart had his life depended on it.

And of course then the shirt had to fit with the trousers. For some reason White actually believed there existed different colours all called white-something. Well, Harry supposed he _was_ an expert in that. Worse still, the shirts had a pattern, which also needed to _bring out his best side_. That last being a favourite line of the shop assistant. After the first half an hour Harry was itching to take out his wand and show the annoying ninny exactly what he thought of as being his best side. As the shop was clearly a Muggle one, it probably was a good thing White had confiscated the thing.

Being totally honest, if only to himself, Harry knew he would have liked being fussed over for a bit, if not for the clothes themselves. He did _not_ like them - not just the pieces White had been picking out for him, but just about anything in the bloody shop. They simply weren't _Harry_, they were more... _Justin_. Not that he had anything against Justin, but Justin at least had the accent to go with the clothes. If Harry uttered one word dressed like this, people would call for the cops, to arrest him for robbery and go looking for the corpse.

'_Unless of course White plans to teach me to talk like he does.'_ Harry shuddered, his suspicion slowly becoming bigger and bigger as he tried on one piece after the other, '_ Merlin, he might even try for table manners or __dancing_

"Acceptable. The clothing, that is. The torture you are subjecting your face muscles to, however, most definitely is not." White seemed to finally have settled on a combination, "Give us a smile Thomas! Why, one would think you don't like your new outfit."

"One would be right!" Harry sarcastically supplied.

"Oh? Don't you agree with the colour. Would you prefer green perhaps? I had believed you to be somewhat averse to green."

Behind White, Harry saw the face of the shop clerk fall to despair. The clerk had started out sunny and eager. Too willing to help and unwholesomely cheery. Slowly, his mood had deteriorated as White's never ending demands had worn him down. About half an hour earlier, Harry had caught him making faces behind White's back. He had found that quite hilarious and promptly joined in, which had served to lessen both their misery a bit.

"... not fitting for a young man. And neither brown nor black will fit your complexion." finished White, whatever he had been saying.

"Let's just have this one," Harry proposed, indicating the clothes he was wearing at the moment. He had little hope that White would agree, for every time he had suggested such before, the man had found some fault.

"Not if you do not quite like them. We would do better to spend just a bit longer getting the perfect set," White responded. While there wasn't any hint of teasing apparent, Harry was certain that he did it on purpose anyway.

"No. This one's fine, really!" rushed Harry, long since certain there was nothing in the shop that he wouldn't find horrible.

"Well, if you say so..." At White's agreement the shop clerk fell out of his role and gave a very audible sign of relief.

Harry then took all the clothes still waiting in the dressing room and shoved them to the shop clerk. In his opinion, they couldn't get out of there fast enough.

And indeed...

"Thomas, what are you doing? You cannot be thinking to leave with only one set. Try on the navy one," interrupted White his flight, gaining a scowl from Harry and a pained cry from the shop clerk.

From the smirk on White's face, he was, indeed, needling them on purpose. Harry hoped against hope it was the shop clerk White was aiming at, for if he had to put up with this for any prolonged period of time, Harry was certain he would be a murderer before offing Voldemort.

-o-O-o-

_Meanwhile in Britain..._

The street was deserted. This was no surprise, as it was dinnertime, and on a lovely summer evening like this, most people where in their back gardens, trying to roast their meat the old-fashioned way.

The sole man walking the street sniffed and inhaled the odour of their accomplishments. And sneered. He didn't display a cheerful disposition to begin with, gloomily concealed in black ankle length robes – those must have been hot as hell during the past summer day – and a sour composition etched into his faces muscles.

This was a man who rarely smiled and found fault with most of whom he met.

He walked up the street and halted between numbers eleven and thirteen, where he stood for a moment as if waiting for something. He then walked to the wall between the to houses and disappeared.

-o-O-o-

Severus strode into the kitchen, causing the many Order members assembled there to fall silent, which was good, for it meant that he would have to subject himself to less of their inane chatter.

Dumbledore, who seemed to sense that his mood was worse than usual, looked at him questioningly.

"The Dark Lord wished to know why I had failed to inform him that Potter was to be separated from his family already." There was more than a hint of annoyance in his voice. He might not have been able to inform the Dark Lord, but he certainly would have expected to be told of the planned movement.

The look of confusion on the old man's face at his statement served to mitigate the humiliation he suffered earlier that day, but barely.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	9. Summer Holiday Stress part 2

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Summer Holiday Stress****  
**_**Part 2**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Dinner was proving that Harry's earlier fear about etiquette lessons to not have been unfounded, seeing as he was currently sitting in his new, navy blue suit, including a _tie_. Harry would rather face Voldemort unarmed than ever have to buy a tie again. Finding one that went with the suit and the shirt and wasn't entirely ridiculous had been the worst of a bad day.

He didn't understand why girls were complaining so often about having difficulty finding shoes. Shoes had been easy. A blue pair and a black pair; that had been decided within a half-hour. They looked horrible – White's taste again – so they fit nicely with the rest of what he was supposed to wear.

'Why do they have to be so uncomfortable?' thought Harry while wriggling his toes, waiting for the food White had ordered to arrive.

The food turned out to taste delicious; pâté of Duck, according to White as the menu had again been in French. The waiter had looked at Harry like he had dirt under his feet when he had asked for an English one.

He did feel a bit guilty about eating the pâté without the bread that it should be on. There was a basket with round pieces of bread on the table, but White had dragged that out of Harry's reach when he had tried to take one. According to White, one shouldn't eat from the offered bread lest one not have room for the rest of the meal.

Harry hoped that there was some yet to come, for he was hungry and one piece of pâté, however tasty, was nowhere near enough to settle his stomach.

White interrupted Harry's musings by explaining how to place his knife and fork to indicate that he was done eating.

"But I'm not done."

"Your plate is empty. What else can you eat from it?"

"But I'm still hungry," replied Harry, wishing that he didn't sound so whiny.

"Then you had better indicate that you are finished with this course so our attendant can clean up and serve the next one."

"This was a starter? Like soup? We'll get the real thing now?" Harry said, relieved.

White looked at him funnily. "This was the appetizer; the soup will follow directly."

Harry's face fell – he just wanted food, already!

"After that, there will be the main course followed by dessert. Just four courses; I had originally planned a grander arrangement, to celebrate the start of our acquaintance, but I then remembered most teenagers don't appreciate extensive dinners. I assume I choose correctly?"

"Yes. Thanks, I suppose," Harry responded, 'Just_ four courses, Merlin!_'. The dinner Aunt Petunia prepared when the Masons visited had been four courses. Harry remembered she had had him assisting her in the kitchen for the whole day. '_Why would anyone need more than two? Food, to fill you up. Dessert, for the taste of it.' _

Harry got the impression that White noticed his hesitation but chose to ignore it. '_The man certainly had ignoring other peoples wishes down to an art,_' thought Harry, tuning out White's chatter about the layout of the cutlery. The subject was utterly useless, in Harry's opinion, and he would not give White the satisfaction of being listened to.

-o-O-o-

The soup was good, really good, apart from the fact that it didn't fill him enough.

Harry continued to tune White out, amazed that the man didn't seem to notice.

'_Was that a question?_' White had apparently changed tactics, trying to switch to having a conversation instead of a monologue. Harry realised that he had been caught not listening, now, as White needed to repeat this question. '_Well, what can he do about it. Take points?_'

"How did your exams go?" White asked.

'_What?_' That would have to be the last question Harry expected. The answer of course was simple: "Fine."

"The standard answer of teenagers, when an adult asks them this question," laughed White, "My mistake, I should have been more specific."

White followed on with: "What subjects did you sit for your exams and how do you think you scored?"

"We can't discus that _here_", Harry whispered scanning the restaurant.

"I don't see why not."

"Because the subjects are not Muggle ones," Harry replied, the _duh_, unspoken but clear from his tone.

White smirked. "But we can. The restaurant is set up so its patrons can discuss _anything_. This is supposed to be for business dinner negotiations, though used for less wholesome things just as frequently. If you keep your voice on a proper level, we should be fine, even if we were discussing murder."

"You've discussed murder here?" Harry asked.

"Be realistic, what do you think?" was the answer Harry got.

Harry thought it to be altogether possible, that White had done just that, but he refrained form saying this. Choosing to go into the subjects of his exams instead.

"I took Potions, Transfiguration, Defence, Charms, Herbology, Astronomy, Creatures and Divination."

Harry resigned himself to having to explain each and every subject, but White surprised him.

"No Muggle Studies?"

_'So, he knows the subject thought at Hogwarts. Definitely not a Muggle then, a Squib. Shouldn't he be jealous?_' thought Harry, while his mind provided a picture of Filch in a suit, dining at a high-class restaurant. It didn't fit; Filch would be a lot less grumpy, for one.

White continued his efforts of conversation. "Why ever did you not do that exam? You were raised Muggle, it would hardly have taken an effort at all."

"I did not see the use of taking a subject when I already knew better than the teacher."

"I was not talking about the classes. Although, I doubt your knowledge of the Muggle word is as extensive as you seem to think. Based on your sense of dress, I'd say it's rather poor," said White wrinkling his nose in distaste, recalling Harry's original clothes. "You could have passed the OWL, though. All of the Muggleborns I have questioned on this ascertained me the difficulty level of the Muggle studies OWL is pathetic to a frightening degree."

Harry frowned. "I did not take the class, so I couldn't have sat the OWL exams, could I?"

"Pardon? Thomas, no Muggleborn takes the class. Most will sit the exam and pass with higher scores than their wizard-raised classmates. Which does reflect so well on Hogwarts teaching, I fear."

Harry frowned, Hermione had taken both the class and the exam, he knew. Dean Thomas had definitely not done the class, but he had not seen him around during the exam, so Dean might have been taking it. "You're saying one can sit the exams without having taken the class?" Harry asked, a little irked, for he felt being cheated out of an extra pass. Muggle Studies was not seen as a serious subject, but he had got the impression that the number of OWLs or NEWTs one pulled was as important as which subjects one took, if not more so.

"Surely your Head of House informed you? Both in your second year when discussing your electives, as well as during the exams sign up?"

Harry pursed his lips. McGonagall certainly had not informed him. She had neither discussed electives before Harry was confronted with the application form nor had there been any formal exams sign up. But he wasn't going to say anything against her to this stranger.

White, meanwhile, continued to put wood on the fire. "It should have been obvious, anyway. If it would have been mandatory to have studied the subjects at Hogwarts to enrol into the exams, how could anyone sit the exams for those subjects the school doesn't even offer?"

Harry's eyed widened. '_He means The Dark Arts_'.

White seemed to have guessed Harry's thoughts, which had nothing to do with wondering just why he seemed to wish to sour Harry's attachment to Hogwarts. He quickly proceeded in their direction: "Dark Arts, Economy, Law, Rural Magic like husbandry, Crafts Magic like woodworking or tailoring, creative arts and Enchanting for instance.

"_Enchanting?"_ That was a kind of magic he remembered from Muggle fairy-tales but had never heard referred to in the Wizarding World. The others, save from The Dark Arts, he had assumed would be learned during apprenticeships following Hogwarts. That is, had he actually spared it a thought.

"Enchanting, deemed to difficult for most students. So as not to disappoint them, it is kept from the curriculum. According to the board."

"You mean the Purebloods want to keep it for them selves," concluded Harry.

"Well observed, Thomas. My compliments."

It sounded sincere but still it only served to irk Harry, as he didn't want to please the man. However, talking pleasantly might gain him something useful. '_I'll have Hermione look into that enchanting thing.'_

"How come you know so much about Hogwarts anyway?"

"Study."

"You _did_ go to Hogwarts", accused Harry.

"_Study_, a time-proved-method of increasing one's knowledge about the subjects one cares to investigate," White pointed out, adding, "You'll start the process yourself with Latin tomorrow. "

"Will I be back at Hogwarts in September?" Whites interest in his studies had got Harry's hopes up.

"There are many places one can study magic." Again, White didn't commit to anything.

Harry's face fell, he however didn't give in so easily: "There's only Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. And I don't speak French or German."

"Durmstrang offers its classes in Latin, as they cater to an area where several different languages are spoken. Besides, while those schools might be the oldest and most prestigious, together they do not nearly teach even half of the magical talented youngsters in Europe."

"They don't?" Harry asked, confused and interested. Three schools for the whole of Europe was a bit scant, now he thought about it. Especially as Hogwarts only held a few hundred students and Durmstrang was said to be even smaller. "Why don't they, then?"

"Why? Probably because other places offer better."

"No way! Hogwarts is the best school in Europe!" Harry fervently defended his Alma Mater.

"The _best_?" White paused for optimal effect. "Neglecting _five_ subjects that the council has declared to be of enough value to be certifiable by either OWL or NEWT? Five out of an available seventeen? I can not call that anything but sad."

"How can anyone pass the exams, if the subjects are not taught?" Harry asked, returning to a safer subject.

"Extracurricular study may help one to get there. There is a library; the charter of Hogwarts ensures that up-to-date books on all subjects of Latin-based magic are available there. However, summer tutors tend to be more common, as pupils taking a up on a subject of their own accord are rather rare."

"That is unfair. Muggleborns cannot have tutors."

"Actually, they can. You might make an argument that those who cannot afford tutors are unfairly disadvantaged. That, after all, would count for Purebloods and Muggleborns alike."

"But what can one learn anyway? We are not allowed to do magic outside of school. Not as long as we are under age."

"I assume you did not look that up the official law codification, for if you had, you would have found: _'It is forbidden to any wizard or witch in England, Wales and Scotland to perform any branch of officially recognised magic for which he or she has not been confirmed, to have obtained at least an OWL in at a legally valid examination, when not supervised by a wizard or witch who has been confirmed, to have obtained at least a NEWT in, at a legally valid examination covering said branch of magic._'"

It took Harry a moment to deduce a useful meaning out of the legal gibberish. "Oh. That's not what the parchment they give us each summer says."

"Ah, it wouldn't do to remind those poor-witted Muggleborn children who objected to going to Hogwarts, when so kindly offered a place, that they were arrested and forced to go to moment they happened upon their firsts bout of accidental magic after refusing. Would it?"

"The ministry does that?"

"Thomas," White stated slowly, "how do you imagine the Ministry of Magic can keep the existence of magic a secret, if there would be untrained Muggleborns running around? Who, having refused entrance into the Wizarding world, would not be accountable under its lovely arcane laws?"

Waiting a moment for this to sink in, White continued, "Just because some thing is written down doesn't mean it is the truth. Particularly in writing, the truth is more often hidden than exposed." He took a breath. "Nevertheless, back on the topic of your subjects, where you planing to continue your electives?"

Harry sighed. "Care of magical Creatures... maybe."

"Do you like the subject?" asked White picking up on Harry's hesitation.

"I suppose..."

"But..." White encouraged him.

"Hagrid is a bit.. well... he is ... ehm..."

Harry was spared from finishing the sentence because White interrupted, "Hagrid teaches? The Groundskeeper? Oh my!"

"There's nothing wrong with Hagrid!" Harry defended.

"You mean he gives thoroughly thought out lessons? He never puts his students in any kind of danger from the creatures he chooses to lecture about? Showing a sound understanding of the differences in strength and body mass that are evident between his pupils and himself at all times?" White asked, in a tone that made it clear he was well informed of Hagrid's failures.

Harry frowned; he had nothing to argue against Whites points, but that didn't mean he wanted to agree.

White smirked. "Well and truly, that must be why you are so _eager_ to continue the classes."

"Hagrid is a good man!" Harry protested.

"Doubtlessly. However, a good man does not automatically make a good teacher." White closed the subject.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Author note:  
As far as I know they don't teach Latin in British primary schools. I am presuming Harry will not know whether a 'proper' one would and his aunt and uncle just didn't want any Latin near their family because of its association with Magic. I won't comment on whether White is misinforming Harry on purpose or whether he is misinformed himself.


	10. Summer Holiday Stress part 3

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Summer Holiday Stress****  
**_**Part 3**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Harry fumed as he lay in the bed in his room of the Hotel suite he and White shared.

White was sitting in an armchair in the same room, reading a book, waiting for him to fall asleep, something Harry was trying to fake so that White would leave and he could make his way out the window again. He wished White would lose his patience and go away, for he had a train to catch.

Harry had not liked the story about Dumbledore's wards keeping him tied to the stranger. Even though Harry still felt angry with Dumbledore and would like to prove he made mistakes, it was mistakes with people that he believed his headmaster prone to - just look at the kind of teachers he hired. He did not believe his headmaster would make mistakes with magic, as the man _was_ the greatest wizard alive, he had more than proved that while duelling Voldemort in the ministry. Harry didn't believe that his wards could be fooled so easily. '_It is much more likely that I had a bad spot of luck and White was trying to make take advantage by making me believe it had something to do with him. He probably had it all set up with that Jason fellow.'_

'_Third time's the charm'_, Harry told himself, if only White would leave. And generally keep his nose out of Harry's business.

Dinner had turned out to be, not only an unwanted lesson about etiquette, but also an opportunity to grill him about his school accomplishments. A bit like how Mrs. Weasley had cornered the twins at Christmas last year. However, she had a point in that the twins where neglecting their studies _and_ she was their _mother_.

White was nothing to him and he still went all parental about his schooling. On which subject he seemed set on disagreeing with Harry on every available point.

The man seemed to think that the most valuable subjects in the curriculum were Runes, Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions and History. Off which Harry hated two, and didn't even consider two others. For some reason, White considered Defence Against the Dark Arts to be a laugh and not worth bothering with much.

White had berated him for choosing Care of Magical Creatures and Divination, just because Ron had. Harry had told him, with the delusive idea to explain how he couldn't go to any adults for advice and wanted someone friendly near. White hadn't understood.

Then he had been berated for antagonizing his potions teacher; according to White, he should have given his best in that particular class instead of making trouble. White seemed to be assuming that Harry decided to be difficult just because the teacher was Head of House to their biggest Quidditch rivals. According to White, the head of Slytherin House had many connections and knew how to use them, both for his own benefit and that of his students. When Harry had countered by asking why he would be teaching potions instead of using his connections to get another job, White had looked at him funnily and stated that it should be obvious to any observer that the man loved teaching.

At which point Harry wondered if White was speaking of the same looming, evil bat that had been harassing him for the last five years, or one from a parallel dimension. Especially when White had suggested Harry should owl his teacher a thank you note for '_his valuable instruction which had been such a great help in preparing for their OWL exams_'. White had even offered to help with the wording of said note, all through he said that they where of lesser importance than including a nice big bag of pineapple filled Swiss chocolate.

_'The man needs a class with Snivellus. I'd lend him a hair for the Polyjuice Potion, too'._

Back in the hotel room, White had asked Harry to describe the table layout and the uses of the various cutleries, something Harry couldn't do. That had been the beginning of quite the scene.

"Strange that you should not know. I vividly recall explaining it to you no less than _four_ times tonight."

Harry had just shrugged.

"Should I escort you to a healer specializing in mental issues?"

'_That sounded like an insult._' After translating the statement into normal English, he fumed, "There is nothing wrong with my head!"

"Should I then assume you have not been listening?" inquired White, slightly more menacing.

"I'm just not interested in that kind of stuff."

"_You_ are not interested? _I _do not care!" White replied in a dangerously cold tone. "You will learn to listen whenever I am addressing you. I will _not_ allow you to waste my time."

"No need to waste any time on me. Just let me leave and I'll never bother you again," Harry had replied cheekily.

White, however, chose to ignore him. "When I explain something to you, anything at all, I expect you to listen, avidly!"

Harry had just shrugged, while White looked at him expectantly, staring into his eyes as if he meant to force Harry into complying.

As the silence had stretched on, Harry shifted nervously; the look he was getting was quite unfriendly. Somehow, it made him remember the gun and the promise White had been making about shooting him in the leg with it. "Look, I heard you, all right. You explain things. I listen. Fine." Harry had finally said reluctantly.

The silence stretched a bit longer.

Finally, White deigned to talk again. "I will, your tone of voice notwithstanding, assume you meant what you just said. However, I am still awaiting our excuses."

'_Excuses, right._' "Wait as long as you wish, you aren't getting any excuses from me." Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest to emphasise his resolve.

White lifted one brow, as a smirk broke the seriousness of his expression. "Oh, I do believe you are mistaken, Mr. Potter. Both about my patience and about my fortitude in this matter."

"Fine, _make me_," Harry challenged. If he got the man riled up enough to shoot at him, someone from one of the other hotel rooms, would hear and come to investigate, '_wouldn't they?_'

"Tempting," White said tapping his lips with his index finger, "However, I'll give you the night to sleep it over."

And so, Harry had been sent to bed, _fuming_, where he was now lying, trying to make his breath even so that the bastard watching him would believe he was of into the realm of dreams.

-o-O-o-

This was all proving more difficult than he had anticipated. While he had believed himself to have properly prepared the actions to be taken, he found himself forced to review his plans.

He had studied that Dursley family, as close as those wards allowed him. Which had meant studying Mr. Dursley at his work and Mrs. Dursley via hearsay. It was a good thing those middle class housewives lived for their gossip. For posing as a woman for two days was _definitely_ more than enough.

His talk with Mr. Dursley had gone splendidly. Even so, the couple had wriggled an expensive dinner out of him before the woman would comply. But it wasn't as if this had made a real dent in his budget; time had been the pressing factor.

The bungalow was a _brilliant_ find. The previous owner now owed him a immense favour. It was illegal, of course, to sell cursed property to Muggles. But while the bungalow had changed ownership, it hadn't been precisely been _sold_.

All had gone as well as could be, until he had to deal with the young man he was currently watching, who was still only _pretending_ to be asleep.

The way Dumbledore's wards brought the youngster back each time he tried to run was hilarious. Giving the teen an opportunity for a test run on Majorca, where there were but a few directions for him to chose from, had been a excellent decision. Had he not done so, he might have panicked when he fount the younger man gone this morning. He would have then wasted his morning in a frantic search. On the other hand he shouldn't have dismissed the window as a possible escape route so lightly. As the young man was proving quite resourceful, which _would_ be a good quality, once he had directed it in alliance with his own goals.

It would be preferable, though, if Harry would stop trying to get away, for he wasn't at all certain how protected his_ 'dear cousin'_ was when he was somewhere out there, alone.

That was not his only issue with Harry though. Even when the teen was with him, he failed to reach him as he had intended. The youngster was just so _closed_.

White hadn't believed he would gain Harry's trust easily, not considering how they had met, but all of his tries had been expertly rebuffed. White wasn't the kind to despair, he had lived through too much for that, but he was certainly getting irritated, mostly because - he had to confess to himself - he had _not_ thought things through properly beforehand. Moreover, he had been acting on the spur of the moment, ever since word of the happenings in the Department of Mysteries reached him.

Really, he should have recognized this kind of behaviour for what it was, as he knew he was prone to rushing into things after a failure.

On the bed, Harry seemed to have finally lost his battle against sleep. As he had expected would eventually happen; the evening of one's breath tended to have such an effect.

'_I will put him into some distracting situations, to put his mind off its current track. It will also allow for studying him, by observing his reactions. Then I will decide which course of action will best serve to resolve the situation._'

Having decided this, White got up to leave Harry's room for his own bed. '_He __does__ need to learn to show proper respect towards me, and fast, if he is to accompany me about_.'

-o-O-o-

In the privacy of the Headmaster's office, Severus had given him a full account of the Death Eater meeting.

Albus had tried not to show his worry, but, in fact, he really _was_ worried; not being in control tended to have that effect on him.

Having the boy suddenly leave on a holiday with his family, had caused a little crisis for the Order. Until they found where exactly the family had disappeared to and worked out the logistics of doing guard duties overseas , there would not be any manpower left for other activities. The idea that Tom may know where they had got to and he didn't was worrisome. The idea that Tom might have a hand in it was simply unthinkable.

_'If only the boy would have had the thoughtfulness to write about his plan in advance, instead of sending Hedwig of to Ron at the last moment. __Ah, well, boys will be boys.'_

Hedwig was well under way with a letter inviting the boy to the Weasleys. The novelty of being abroad would not be able to outdo the plainness of Muggle life for long. So Albus believed the boy would be eager to accept the invitation and be safely back under his influence within a sennight. He was not certain the wards would have had enough time feeding on the bond between the boy and his aunt, but sending the boy back for the Christmas holidays would solve that.

This was the reality he had been labouring in, until Severus had brought his unsettling news.

_'It was possible that Tom had somehow noticed that The-Boy-Who-Lived was no longer in Little Whinging and had concluded that the Order had moved Harry_.' The place of residence of their Boy-Who-Lived might be kept secret for the Wizarding public; Albus would be quite disappointed if Tom had not got his hands on it by now.

_That explained it! Tom – or anyone bearing his mark – could not approach Harry as long as he was with his mother's family, unless through them, and no magical being had been anywhere near the house. Harry could not have left of his own vocation again. He had made certain of that after the trouble during the summer Black escaped._

This reasoning, and the task to convince Tom that Harry had been whisked away from his family already and would be living, guarded by the Order at some undisclosed location for the remainder of the summer, was what he had sent Severus away with.

If nothing else, it would gain them some time to get Harry safely back to Britain.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Thanks for reading, now hit that review button and tell me what you think!


	11. Summer Holiday Stress part 4

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Summer Holiday Stress****  
**_**Part 4**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Breakfast had been through room service again and had been big enough to feed all the boys in Harry's dorm and then some. The eggs, bacon, and sausages had been served on a thick steel plate filled with hot water. Harry had had been wondering how the metal plate kept giving off warmth. So after they finished breakfast he had investigated it. It turned out to be hollow and filled with water, which by then had been luke warm, fortunately for Harry had spilled some of it over his lap. Doing so Harry had felt a bit self-conscious, as he felt he was acting a lot like Mr. Weasley might, when confronted with some Muggle item that caught his attention. But he had never seen something like the plate before. Well, this was quite a fancy hotel – at least, it seemed way up from the Leaky Cauldron, but maybe that was just because it was Muggle - of course, it would have things even Aunt Petunia hadn't been able to include in her picture perfect home. The golden tabs for instance. Harry had asked Mr. White about them earlier, in an attempt to break one of their uncomfortable silences. The man had confirmed that, yes, the taps were made of gold, though it was mixed with some other metal, for gold alone would be too soft to be used for faucets. Harry had not been able to keep himself from following that with a taunt on White's devotion to the expensive. With that, the mood in their room had darkened again while White tersely replied that it was the hotel's discretion that he favoured.

Still, the gold tabs seemed ridiculous to Harry, but he was thankful for the keep-warm serving plate as White had refused him at the table before he was washed and clothed.

"Our first night, I was lenient because of your sudden change in circumstances. However, if I can expect you to take such kindness as a precedent to behave uncultured, I shall be disinclined to make such allowances in the future."

'_Just great! I get saddled with the king of manners. Aunt Petunia must love him, she'd try to find reasons to host a garden party, just to have a chance to try to impress._' Harry had shuddered at the thought. '_At least White wouldn't force me to play the servant to all of his guests, if only because the man seems to have the money to hire professionals and would consider me under qualified._'

While the food had been splendid, breakfast had been the strangest affair, for White had insisted on reading the paper, _out loud_. Unfortunately, it was in French, so there wasn't a chance for Harry to find out what had happened in the world. Irritated Harry had tried to make fun of White needing to read out loud. Only to be made fun of himself, in that he could not understand a word of it.

And now White was insisting on the apology he had wanted yesterday evening. Somehow the man had manoeuvred things so that he was sitting and Harry was standing a few paces in front of him, giving Harry a feeling of trepidation like when he was called to McGonagall's office for a serious talking to, even though White wasn't looking stern so much as calculating. '_Which might actually be worse,_' Harry realised.

He again refused his apologies, obviously. He had determined that he would risk being shot at. '_Surely someone in the hotel would notice and sound an alarm. White would be arrested then and while I might be hospitalized, I would be free of him._'

After what must have been a staring match lasting a full five minutes, which is a very long time if you're doing nothing more than trying to not look away before the other does, White abandoned his act of benevolent waiting.

"I did promise I would make you uncomfortable would you not properly behave and cooperate. You insist on being uncomfortable, then?"

While suspecting that what White referred to as '_uncomfortable_' would match what uncle Vernon had though of as normal discipline – no food, cupboards, shores from dusk till dawn, Harry didn't want to give in. '_Let him do his worst, then I'll know the value of his treats_'. So he just remained standing there, tilting his chin a little higher and remaining silent, feeling quite proud of himself.

"Well. I will not have it said that I am not a man of my word." White stated while reaching into one of his pockets.

Harry tensed. But instead of the gun Harry had been expecting White pulled out a piece of rope and an envelope. The envelop Harry saw, was carrying the stationary of the Hotel. White meanwhile was laying the piece of rope out on the table beside his armchair, making a neat circle by connecting the ends of the rope. He opened the envelope and took out some short dark hairs, placing them on top of the rope. The whole thing then shimmered and curled while the hairs glided into the rope, weaving themselves into the strains, giving the rope darker spots. Harry – quite certain that normal rope wasn't supposed to act that way – watched with his comfort diminishing more and more.

"Beautiful, isn't it? Magic," spoke White savouring the word '_Magic_'.

He then took the rope is his hand again, "_Penta!_"

Upon White's command, the rope sprung from his hand, growing longer. Then it stood vertically, suspended in the air, Harry watched, fascinated as the tip bend and slowly revolved in a circle, like the lens of a stethoscope. The moment it caught 'sight' of Harry, it sped to him. Harry, startled, sprang away, feeling the wind it made as it zoomed past him. Harry just started to turn to see where the 'magic' rope had gone, when he felt it giving him a painful sling against his back. Yelping, he quickly turned, he only just got sight of it as the rope rounded him again and went for him a second time.

'_Fucking bastard, he's __whipping__ me!' _Harry thought, choked, suddenly realising; he had started to believe the man was all bark and no bite, that White would not actually put his threats into action. While it could be worse, the lashing wasn't hard enough to draw blood or even damage his shirt... '_We can't have that of course, damaging my new 'proper' garments,' _he added mentally. _'This might not be disabling, not like being shot in the leg would be, I'll be damned if I stand still for it'_.

So Harry ran, circling the room, not able to evade a third and fourth encounter with the rope hunting him.

"It is disgraceful you know, the way you are trying to avoid the Hymarweddi, like a little boy, who hasn't yet the self-control to stand up and face his due," White chided.

Harry halted a moment to flash an angry look at the direction of White's voice. This earned him another lash. After that the rope abandoned his chase and returned to White where it became small and still again. Harry was sweating and breathing hard, more from running around trying to avoid the rope then from the lashes themselves.

"You fucking bastard!" he shouted as soon as he had enough breath.

White grinned. "I assure you, my parents were quite properly married – with each other, even. Furthermore, you could certainly recognise whether I was having intercourse, would you? Are you ready to make your apologies, or do you need another go?'"

As it turned out, Harry was farther from making excuses than he had been in the first place and needed three more 'go's, before he changed his mind, something he only did because the last one, incanted with '_Forte Deca!_', had shredded his shirt and drawn blood.

_'I wonder how he is going to explain that to the Hotel people_,' Harry thought, knowing how difficult bloodstains where to get out of anything, especially furniture or carpet. '_Unless he'll assign me the cleaning as a chore._' That was what Aunt Petunia had done every time Dudley had blooded his nose.

When he had calmed down a bit afterwards, Harry had been swearing to himself that he really should stuff his pride and play along, if only to avoid being too wounded to make use of an opportunity to run for it. Luckily, White had seemed satisfied with Harry's mumbled excuses.

'_Should a Hotel room be so lived in?' _Harry wondered, while he watched White, who was taking a small pot from one of the closets. '_Most people would not take the trouble to unpack would they? At the place they are only staying a short while?'_

"Turn around and take of your shirt," White ordered suddenly. The pot in his hand held some sort of ointment, thick and yellow like bruise-healing paste.

"You're not touching me!" Harry exclaimed stepping far out of White's reach.

"Don't be silly, boy, you will scar."

"I don't mind."

"I_do_ mind."

"I already have several scars anyway."

"So I have noticed; unfortunately, this liniment will no longer work on those. I'll find you something, though," White promised.

"When did you –" Harry started to say, but White had closed in on him and had managed to grab him. A hand full of salve was placed under the remains of his shirt as White started to rub the stuff all over his back. Harry tried to wriggle loose, but White's grip was too strong.

'_I could bite hi, ... and get another Forte,_' thought Harry as he decided to put up with it. When he was released, he sent White his best ugly sneer.

"You have no cause to look at me like that, young man. You asked for such treatment yourself."

"I didn't ask to be beaten," Harry growled.

"But you did. You seemed not to get enough of it," replied White. "I was beginning to worry you liked it."

"Nobody_likes_ being lashed!" Harry exclaimed.

White grinned, his eyes sparkling. "You would be surprised.'

Harry shuffled on his feet, he suddenly felt _very_ uncomfortable.

"I am glad that you do not," continued White, "administering beatings tends to get bothersome quickly."

_'Like you actually did anything! Oh, no bother, he'll just say that he directed the rope. What can I say...'_

"You liked it well enough. You bast–" Harry caught himself and continued lamely, "You smiled."

"Naturally; you made a fairly amusing sight, running around trying to dodge the Hymarweddi. A silly thing to try, as it never would have worked, but entertaining nonetheless."

"I should have opened the door, so it might have found another victim," Harry berated himself.

While stared at him, then said, "You do realise, that it was _your_ hair I used to activate it, do you?"

"How did you get my hair?" Harry panicked; the idea of White sneaking up to him while he slept was _not_ welcome.

"From your comb. You forgot to destroy it." White calmly answered.

'_To destroy it?' _He never did that. Harry did vaguely remember Quirrell lecturing about it. '_Something about destroying hair and nail clippings. So nobody could use them against you, to form unwanted bonds, influence your behaviour or impersonating you_, if Harry remembered correctly. They were to take up the habit of burning or banishing them. But they hadn't yet learned any fire or banishing spells back then, and by the time they had, Quirrell had been established as a paranoiac coward, so they hadn't taken anything he said seriously. '_Stupid, the Polyjuice should have reminded me,' _Harry realized, thinking back to his second year. _'Not that it would have helped now.'_

"You took my wand!" Harry stated flatly.

"Oh, indeed, it would seem I am obtaining quite some power over you," taunted White.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

_Hymarweddi_ (Welsh); You will behave!  
I wanted something of a Celtic derivation and this was the closest I could find. So if one of you knows a Celtic dialect from the European continent I'll love to hear your suggestions.  
And yes, the French and Celtic are there for a reason, apart from showing White is well traveled.

Next chapter: Harry discovers that what you know influences your opinion… a little


	12. The Wider World part 1

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**The Wider World****  
**_**Part 1**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Bracing himself, Harry stepped out of his room into the suite's main room. Harry had taken as much time as he dared in his room to wash up and dress in one of his other new shirts. The day-old shirt was nothing more than a rag, but his back had been better than he had expected. _'Still, I'd better not challenge the bastard any further; I hate the sight of that piece of rope. Worse, if I lose too many shirts he might decide to take me shopping again!'_ Harry shuddered at the thought.

"I have business where you cannot accompany me today. You'll have to keep occupied inside the room yourself," White greeted him.

"Fine," Harry shrugged. '_Plenty of time to get far away from you.'_

"I got you a Muggle history book covering highlights from the 16th century onwards. You shall find it quite enlightening to compare its tales to the ones in your wizard-history books," White continued, dropping an armful of books on the table between them. "I got you a few of the latter too," White added indicating the top of the stack.

Harry, reluctantly, took one. " '_The Silent Separation' _by Master of the Chronicles C. _Binns?!"_ You've got to be kidding!"

White frowned. "Cuthbert Binns is positively _brilliant_."

'_He's worse than _Luna,' Harry thought astonished. Harry liked Luna, but he couldn't deny the younger girl was a bit, well, loony.

White, however, had some more to say, "A shame the British Ministry for magic prohibited his textbooks. Mercifully, this did not stop him from reading them during his lectures. A brave man, Master Binns, an example of Gryffindor at its best. A Ravenclaw's mind, he has, but the Ravens, faced with censure, would have tucked their knowledge away, to savour it in secrecy. A good thing he knew his texts by rote before he died, as ghosts can have trouble turning pages."

"You've_got_ to be joking," Harry whispered.

"Unfortunately I am not, unbelievable, is it not, the way those Ministry drones dare to interfere with education?"

_'It does sound like the kind of thing Umbridge would do,' _Harry mused, not quite convinced yet.

"You must be so proud of your housemate, who sacrifices his well-deserved rest and stays around so as not to be silenced."

_'Put that way, it sounds like I have something in common with Binns! Eww.'_

"You make it sound like he was murdered, or something."

"Assassination was never proven. Not for lack of trying, mind you. Nevertheless, the investigation seemed jinxed. Perhaps it was."

"Luckily, the board refused to expel him from his position, claiming a ghost instructor would not need to be paid and thus the situation could serve as a relief on Hogwarts' strained budget. Since the Ministry has continued to refuse to pay a penny to educate its youth, as they have for centuries, and the board refused both to increase the fee and their contributions, the boards' argumentation was one of undeniable validity. Typical Ministry, they stick their nose in everyone's business but when it comes to actually invest something, they are suddenly engaged elsewhere." The amount of rancour in Whites words caused Harry to wonder whether the man had a personal history with the British Ministry of Magic. He thought it better not to comment on it at the moment, as he didn't want to worsen the man's mood.

Still, he wasn't planning to go with the history work. "Well, _I_ am not interested in history. Muggle or magic. Honestly, I am glad that when I will return to Hogwarts; I'll be a NEWT student and I'll no longer need to follow it." Harry wasn't deluded for a moment that the man planned to let him leave at the end of summer but he hoped that his stating differently would provoke White into telling him what he was planning.

White looked astonished.

"Besides, Binns is boring," added Harry for good measure.

'_Uh oh,_' thought Harry as he noticed Whites face darkening, '_Is it just me or is he more volatile this morning?'_

"_Boring_? Just because he has trouble speaking? Being born deaf? You had better restrain your tongue, young man, lest I decide to take your glasses and make you live with _your_ disability." White replied, sounding as if he was already enjoying watching Harry stumbling along half-blind.

'Deaf?_ That sure explained a lot, the droning voice, Binns' never noticing anything, even when Ron had convinced whole the class, except for Hermione, to snore loudly during one of Binns' lectures, a prank that had fallen flat due to Binns' lack of response..._' Harry felt himself blushing. '_Had I known..._'

_I better say that out loud_,' Harry realized, staring into White's still angry face.

"I did not know and will make my apologies to Professor Binns next time I meet him," Harry said in his best 'am-I-not-nice-now?' voice." He should have known better than to follow it with, "However I _still_ do not like history."

"Thomas, history is the single most important subject for a young wizard positioned like yourself. It should have your regard, even if you do not find it particularity enjoyable," preached White, who seemed to have reined in his diabolical tendencies for the moment.

'_A wizard positioned like me… what is that supposed to mean?_' "Oh come on, it's not as if it is going to help me any defeating Voldemort," Harry reproached.

At this, White looked genuinely startled, as if Harry's words truly shocked him.

"Defeating the Dark Lord!" White whispered, "Dear Merlin."

Getting his bearings back White continued on a normal tone, "Harry, I understand about revenge, especially for one's family. But really, against a wizard of such power, there is no shame in avoiding it. You will certainly not be the only one who does so."

'_He doesn't expect me to…but everyone expects me to..._' thought Harry, quickly followed by, '_Of course, _he_doesn't know about the prophecy. Still, it's not like I have a choice anyway.'_

"Regardless, I will not have a life until he's dead. So I'll kill him or die trying," he reasoned.

White looked at him searchingly for several moments, then said, "I was informed that you are a Gryffindor."

"Yes. So you'll probably think I have some kind of hero complex. I don't care. You will certainly not be the only one who does." Harry threw the man's words back at him.

"Actually, I was wondering how by Isis' Impal... err... how you managed to avoid being sorted in to Slytherin."

"Because I am not a slimy, sneaking Snake," Harry deadpanned, trying not to think about how narrowly he had escaped being sorted just there.

"That would translate as you not being very cunning, you mean, and I must concede, subtlety seems a quality which you have not developed much. However, you are displaying enough ambition to make up for that."

"No, I don't. What do you know about Hogwarts' Houses, anyway?"

White looked aghast at Harry's denial; he opened his mouth as if to say something, but seemed to think better of it and closed it again. He followed with, "The study of history can help you to accomplish this non-ambition of yours. But you will not believe me until you reach this conclusion yourself. Therefore, you will write an essay about the benefits of studying history."

"No way," Harry interrupted him.

"Or, if you feel so inclined, an essay explaining why the subject is a waste of time and should be dropped from your curriculum. Either _you will convince yourself that you need to study the subject_ and we can get a fresh start or you will convince me and I will drop it," White finished. Sounding… strangely… like he was telling Harry to convince himself instead of giving him an option.

Harry shook his head, as much in denial as to clear it. '_Surely, I have not lost enough blood to feel drowsy from it?' _

Harry lifted his chin and met the man's eyes, trying to out-arrogant him.

"Yeah, right, I am seeing through this one. You make it so that I will spend a vacation day writing an essay anyway. This is post-OWLs summer, you know; it's supposed to be my homework-free one," Harry complained, his mind on the fact that for many of his school mates, the ones with Wizarding families anyway, it was also the summer of special trips and gifts as a celebration of the OWLs and a rest before the serious NEWT studies. Neville had been excited at the prospect of visiting the vault that held the Longbottom heirlooms for the first time. Somehow, his grandma believed sitting through your exams made you almost an adult, of course, Mrs. Longbottom was extremely strict in doing things properly, so it might have been the way things were done when she was a child. Harry felt a surge of jealousy, longing for someone to celebrate with him and to make him feel special and grown up. Annoyed with himself, Harry crushed the feeling down; he had never expected any of those sort of niceties of the Dursleys, knowing very well that they would only ever celebrate his graduation – by kicking him out. At least, that was how things were before this White fellow came along to relieve his relatives of their unwanted nephew, two years ahead of schedule. '_If I just give over and do whatever he asks, he might not be so bad and this could be a great adventure._' Harry blinked_. 'Where did that come from?_'

As a Gryffindor, when unsure of your opponent, attack. "Why do you assume I'd just do as you say; that's ridiculous."

"Why? Because I am your elder, clearly. In loco parentis, at that," White responded, as if that should explain everything.

Suddenly, White broke the stare he had had fixed on Harry's eyes, as if he had noticed something disturbing behind Harry, causing Harry to look over his shoulder, to find the room looked just as it had.

"I will go now." White stated abruptly. "You will stay here and write that essay. I do not care whether you disagree with me as long as your reasoning is sound."

Rising from his chair, he gestured at the bureau standing in one of the corners. "You'll find paper and an lencyclopaedia in the top drawer."

Seeing Harry's lack of response, White fetched a lens like object, handing it to him. "You might want some background information about the concepts in your essay."

At Harry's still-blank look, White sighed, "Don't tell me you have never seen one before."

Harry shrugged; so he hadn't, big deal.

"You haven't? By Merlin, however did you manage any studying without one?"

With his hand already the handle of the suite's door, White explained, "The crystal of the lens has incorporated facts about many different items. You activate it by holding it over the word you wish to know more about; make sure it's in the middle other wise it will pick another one. Say '_etimiloque_' for it to show the history of a term, '_synonym_' and '_antonym'_ will give you those respectively, very handy when working on your writing assignments, '_specto_' will show you a picture of the term in focus and '_definus_' will have it display a definition, like one would find in a Muggle encyclopaedia."

Harry looked at the item: a lens set in silver with a black wooden handle, the silver was marked with tiny little runes throughout and the handle was smooth from use. This did sound as something he could have made good use of. In retrospect, he had seen some students use a lens like this in the library. He had found it odd that they used it when the letters in their books where not nearly so small as to need enlarging. A flush of heat came to his face as he recalled trying to taunt Malfoy for using one, implying he was too vain to wear glasses, Malfoy and the Slytherins studying alongside him had found this extremely funny. No wonder.

White's voice cut though his reverie, "Oh, and Harry, refrain from using the Dark Lord's name until you actually wish to evoke him."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	13. The Wider World part 2

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**The Wider World****  
**_**Part 2**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Jason met René for lunch at one of his favourite summer terraces overlooking Lac Leman.

"Hey-o! Where is Tommy-foxboy?" greeted Jason while making a show of looking around.

White had to suppress shaking his head in dismay when he saw Jason approaching; while that silly parrot was missing today, the man had chosen to dress like the anti-Christ. The pair of them sitting together would draw quite a few stares. _'The devil and his advocate_!' René thought. He was long past nagging Jason about his choice of attire, knowing full well Jason lived to shock people. Instead, he answered the man's question, "At the hotel. At least, so I hope."

"Were you not planning to take him on a few sightseeing trips, to get him to ease up around you?" Jason replied, settling down.

"I thought it better to separate for the day, to cool down," René answered a bit stiffly. Well, he had called on Jason to discuss this matter; pretending that goblins would accept leprechaun gold would not help things along.

Jason settled himself back into his chair until he was more lying than sitting in it. Elbows on the armrests and hands woven together to support his chin, he let his lips form a lazy smile. "There's some story there. Spill."

René forced himself to keep his face smooth and his hands still, but he could not quite keep the resentment he felt out of his voice. "He's resisting in every possible way."

"He's a teen."

"No one ever had more problems with teenagers than with younger children until psychologists invented puberty. "

"Now you sound like some stuffed up, pureblood inbred," Jason observed. "No need, you convinced me of your acting skills years ago," he continued. "You were acting, weren't you," Jason finished, sounding like giving a command rather than asking a question.

René had to resist him, simply to assure himself he could. "My contemporaries, who were difficult as teens, were already difficult when younger. Those who were well behaved and pliant as children continued to be easily governed."

"Put it like that and he's a hopeless case," laughed Jason.

"'Weak-willed children don't tend to grow into influential adults," Rene shrugged. "He just needs a firm hand."

"I do not for a moment believe _you_ would withhold him that."

"—"

"If you do not want to tell me, I am certainly not going to drag it out of you," Jason continued when René stayed silent.

"I acquainted him with the Hymarweddi," René stated.

"Sounds reasonable," said Jason. Then seeing that Rene somehow seemed to think otherwise, he added, "Your anguish is exaggerated considering the issue. I could see miles away the little cheek had it coming."

"_Forte._"

Jason hummed to himself for a while after René's revelation and then he realised," He attacked you, did he?"

"No – yes – well, earlier," René started, growing more irritated with himself seeing Jason's smirk at his discomfort. "He did attack me, however, that was not what this was about."

Jason smirked at openly at René now. "And how will you react now, when he attacks you again?"

"You are enjoying this," René accused. Jason.

'"Of course I'm enjoying it. Mr. Perfect making mistakes and having doubts – a whole new side of you for me to explore."

"You have forgotten how we met?" Rene commented sourly.

"I believe I do remember being asked _very kindly _to forget about that particular period."

"I am hoping to prevent further escalation of the situation," René said, returning to the subject he wished to discuss, "if you would act like the psychologist you are and give me some actual advice."

Unfortunately, Jason was having much too much fun at René's expense to stop their banter. "I never finished my study, as you well know. Therefore, I prefer to leave all the boring understanding-human-nature stuff to my partner. He dreams up all the crazy experiments. I am just the dare-devil who actually executes them."

"I am asking _you_; your business partner is someone I would rather never meet again." René shuddered.

Jason shrugged. "You need to keep the standard you have set now. Without strict boundaries and predictable consequences when they're breached, he'd just be encouraged to keep trying to defy you. I should not need to remind you of all this; these are basics."

René signed. "I was afraid you would say that."

"You were? When did you become skittish about inflicting pain?" Jason asked, mystified.

René scowled. "I cannot remember if I ever was, as you well know."

After a short pause he confessed, "I started to like the situation. That's why _I_ needed to cool down."

In an instant, Jason's disposition became a lot more serious. "Did you like the power you held over the boy or did you like seeing him in pain?"

As it was a valid question in a situation like this René took his time to ponder the cause of his feelings. "It was not so much seeing him in pain as it was being the one who caused it."

Jason frowned. "Using the Hymarweddi should not have such an effect at all. Have you been exposed other conditions that might have reawakened that flaw in your character?"

"I might have been near some coercive magics, which might have induced a bit of pride."

"The effects of which would have remained totally hidden beneath your natural arrogance," Jason laughed.

"Hey!"

"Oh, delude yourself as much as you like." Jason waved away René's objections. "Anything else?"

"I might have handed out some potions to unsuspecting recipients, but just dispersing them should not have been direct enough to have any influence on my character, the contact I had with the magic they held being so minimal."

"Depending on their severity, handling them might have had a little influence, maybe, if you had needed to set yourself to do so?"

René shook his head.

Jason peered at the younger man in thought. Finally, he offered, "If I were to tell you to retreat for a few weeks, someplace nice and calm..." he trailed of seeing Whites disagreeing scowl.

"I could take the boy from your hands, you know," Jason suggested. "He seems an interesting fellow, and he likes me better, too."

"Aren't you supposed to fly back to America in a week or two?"

"I have enough room to spare; I could take him with me."

René snorted. "He'll take one look into that lair you call an apartment and will run, screaming 'Dark Arts'."

"I'd hope so, given that he has several years studying defence against them under his belt," smirked Jason.

At this, René lost all seriousness and laughed. "And how am I to get any rest if I worry what atrocities you might subject him to?"

Jason joined the younger mans laughter. "Just keep in mind, the offer stands."

"I would not trust you with a pet rat, old friend."

Jason grinned, but there was a hint of seriousness back in his voice when he asked, "So this is personal?"

White's mood shifted from light banter to a much darker demure. "He destroyed my whole family, Jason."

Ignoring the sudden pity in the older man's face, he added bitterly, "All for the greater good."

"I believe that was caused by a certain prophecy," Jason interrupted, knowing White had a rant coming."

White sniffed dejectedly. "Prophecy does not cause anything. It is they who put their hope and fear into the otherwise empty words that gives prophecies their power."

"That is one if the theories," Jason conceded. "Speaking of manipulation," he continued, in an effort to stir their conversation into safer areas, "Does the child show any skill in that area?"

White shook his head. "If he has even the slightest talent, it is sorely underdeveloped."

"He'll need it, considering the snake pit you Europeans live in. He'll need it however strong his magic might be," Jason replied, waving to the waitress for more coffee. '_Or maybe to get another peek in her décolleté when she would serve it,_' René mentally added, grinning at the older man.

"Well, you'll be the ideal teacher in there," Jason continued after they had given their orders. "How about his magic level? Have his OWL scores already be obtained? "

"I received them recently, they are considerably lower than one might suspect, given the tales going around about him."

"Don't tell me we have an overpowered troll to work with," Jason groaned. "Tell me there is some substance behind the old man's propaganda."

René shook his head again. "His magical proficiency can surely be filed under the heading 'underdeveloped'."

Jason raised his eyebrow in question.

"The boy _is_ strong. He broke four of my dampening crystals already." René could not have sounded more proud if he had been speaking of a blood relative that he single handily raised.

"Strong, or determined," Jason pointed out. "How many did you leave him with?"

"The full thirteen, spread around the suite. With his reputation, I didn't want to economise on them."

"I'll get you the key to one of my repositories. Don't get caught with those crystals, though. The ICW decided to make it their business to restrict unlicensed trade and use of yet another long list of useful tools. If you get into their clutches, you are on your own."

"Naturally." While shrugged of the warning as if he heard it too many times already. "I have not been able to keep up to date with the news this last month. Anything else I should know?"

"The German princedoms re-started the discussion about doubling the ward-feeds on Schwarzwald forest, to keep the settlements there hidden from the newly planned satellites."

"Mordred's Mercy – nonexistent!"

"Language, young man," Jason chided, smiling.

White stated, "The flooding plot is on again, then."

"I still maintain it's too dangerous; the ICW would need a big crisis elsewhere to distract them enough for it to be possible to pull such a stunt under their noses."

"Britain," René stated with a satisfied look on his face.

"The land of your birth – surely you care?" Jason asked surprised.

"I did give up on it. It was painful to do so, but considering they tend to decide to set kiss-happy Dementors on any one of their subjects without even the pretense of a trail, I should not even feel that."

"Right." Jason must have decided that track of conversation would not be fruitful, for he ventured back to the issue in Germany. "I believe that the Schwarzwald should be given up; it's not as if it's really needed."

"Lebensraum," White stated flatly. This attracted some nasty glances from the tables around them.

Jason chuckled. "And here I thought you'd never learn to give the sheep a well placed stir-up."

René huffed; it was bad enough that people would remember them because of their clashing attire, being remembered as potential neo-Nazis was worse. _'Oh, who am I fooling; we were condemned for plotting world domination and killing puppies the moment Jason's jewellery came into view.'_

"There is still time, and the boy might prove to have value in the political arena, which I can use in this case." White closed the topic.

Jason took this as a hint to return their conversation to René's more urgent troubles. "You realize, don't you, that you will now have to punish the child for trying to use his magic." Jason smirked. "He'll be mystified how you know, which, with a little luck, will discourage him from trying again."

White shook his head. "He didn't break the crystals through a deliberate magical act."

This caught Jason's attention.

"One broke in the car already. That was when he was planning to attack me." René smirked. "The magical build-up gave him away."

"Uncontrolled magical outbreaks at sixteen, still? Isn't magic supposed to have stabilized by that age?"

"He seems to loose control of it when he is overtly emotional. The other three crystals broke when I was whipping him," said René, once again sounding proud.

Jason ignored the statement that the boy had somehow managed to break though three dampening crystals in a row, or even at the same time. They both knew what that implied about the boys' magical strength. Instead he chose to focus on the more unexpected element in René's disclosure.

"Emotion," Jason mused. "I remember you saying that the Brits neglect that aspect in the schooling of their youngsters, correct?"

"That would be an understatement; they avoid it like the dragon pox. If his talents primarily take that direction, which the corporeal-patronus-at-age-thirteen tale would support, it would go a long way in explaining his disappointing OWL marks. Apart from the absence of study habits, that is."

"He'll need to learn to properly ground himself as soon as possible."

René felt a bit perturbed at being told the obvious. "And how would you suggest I do that; I won't be able to verify whether he is actually putting any effort into it, so there is no way I can force him to apply himself."

"Find someway to motivate him, Renard – you have creativity aplenty in that area; just use it." Jason sighed. "Wherever did you acquire that sudden self-consciousness?"

"I am not afraid of failing, if that is what you mean," White retorted, sounding offended.

"Arrange yourself a bewitchment check-up then," replied Jason.

"Honestly Jason, I'd know if someone was bedazzling me. It has been a long time since I was a novice."

"The Supreme Mugwump isn't an apprentice either; who knows what that man has built into those wards?"

"I'll take it under advisement," Rene conceded tersely.

"How do you plan to use the boy against him?" Jason asked in a conspiratory whisper.

"You might as well ask how I am planning to shield him from being used-up and cast away." White circumvented the question.

"You will have a hard time doing either until you manage to win his trust."

"It'll work out; if I can't get him to see reason, there are plenty of ways to ascertain his cooperation."

"Don't underestimate your charge, René."

René looked at Jason inquiringly, as the tone of the man's voice indicated his friend knew something he himself didn't.

"You know how the British Ministry of Magic has their alarm system triggered to those spells they classify as _Unpardonable_ or something like that?"

"Yes. Three spells in total, because, naturally, one of those would be the first spell any trespasser would cast," René replied sarcastically. "Your point?" Normally he thought Jason's banter a refreshing break from all the bowing and scraping people usually displayed when dealing with him. To many people he dealt with would agree with him even if he insisted the sky was orange. But today, Jason grated on his nerves. _'I should not show my irritation,'_ René thought, _'it only serves to encourage him_.'

Jason must have seen his resolve, for he chooses that moment to get to the point. "Whoever was in charge of that mission must have known which spells would trigger the alarm, for the Ministry's recordings show a distinct lack of their use until quite late into the event."

René frowned. "Maybe the alarm was triggered by the high levels of magic the used during the duel between the Dark Lord and Dumbledore."

"They were triggered before their arrival, through the use of the pain-curse."

_'The overconfident idiots,'_ René mentally censured the Death Eaters.

Then, Jason dropped his bomb. "According to Mrs. Lestrange, the _Boy-Who-Lived_ tried to cast it on her."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	14. The Wider World part 3

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**The Wider World****  
**_**Part 3**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Harry actually spent the day at the Hotel, for he had decided he'd have a better chance getting away when well rested. It had absolutely nothing to do with the swimming pool, the suite's wide screen TV set with movie channel or with the cookies and soda he got to order on White's bill. No, really it had nothing to do with the swimming pool – at first – because Harry didn't want to walk outside with his bare chest displaying whipping marks, until he found - when he decided to judge the damage in the full length mirror of the bath - the marks to have vanished.

Wanting to spent time outside in the sun and having nothing better to do apart from just lounging there, he had even given Binns' book a try, as White's story about the ghost had caught his interest. The book however, turned out to be only marginally better than his professor's droning lectures. It was full of too long sentences and contained too many words that Harry had to guess the meaning of, just like most of the supplementary reading at school. At first the lensiscope had been fun to use, but the novelty worn of soon enough and it got tiresome to have to ask for a definition every other sentence. '_Maybe I just haven't read enough lately'_ thought Harry recalling pleasant afternoons in the library of his primary school, which had held the double attraction of safety from Dudley and his gang and an endless supply of wonderful world to escape to.

He had made sure to scratch up a sort of essay, for he reasoned it would not be a tremendously good idea to go against the orders he was given. He had chosen to take White very literally, though; Harry had written exactly why history was a crap subject, releasing five years of frustrated boredom into his words. While he didn't think White would deign himself to agree with the conclusion, the man had said he could write a defence for his beliefs. And the reasoning in his essay was tight enough to get a Goblin to invest in it, or so Harry told himself.

-o-O-o-

"I am to understand that you think history is crap and should be taken from the school curriculum because it, I quote, '_has already happened anyway'_?"

White waited and the silence stretched.

"Yes," Harry said finally, for White seemed to expect an answer.

"Tell me, then, which side will the Goblins – whose role in history you seem to think the most useless topic of study - choose to support, at what point will they do so and what will be the effect of that choice on the current conflict?"

"They are staying out of it. It's not their fight," Harry guessed.

"Really, they are staying out of it. Well, that must be prophecy, for one would certainly not conclude that from historically-based extrapolation," White taunted. "Had you managed to obtain an OWL in Divination, I just might have considered that… that unintelligent nonsense. But maybe you are a natural and didn't take the subject?"

Harry refusing to answer looked away for just a moment, which was enough for White to make an educated guess. "Can you then tell me how the different factions in the Wizarding world are viewing the Dark Lord and his quest?"

"Duh, the Death Eaters and their families want him to win and kill all the Muggleborns. The ones on Dumbledore's side wish him to be stopped and to get all the Death Eaters in Azkaban, and the ministry wishes to deny that he exists."

"And…?" White prompted when Harry fell silent.

"And what?" Harry repeated annoyed, what more could there possibly be said on the matter.

"The other factions…" White coaxed.

"What other factions, what else can you want? You are for Vol.. eh You-Know-Who or you are against him, or you're stupid enough to think he will go away if you ignore him," Harry voiced his earlier thoughts.

"I do hope you are compiling this for simplicity and not actually assuming that the only divisive influence upon our society is the Dark Lord," White sighed.

Harry looks nonplussed; was White trying to confuse him just for the fun of it? '_Or is there really some other faction I don't know about.'_

"Have you ever heard of the expression: '_Know thine enemy and you will know how to defeat him'_?" White prompted.

"I have heard something like that, yes; it's a Muggle expression. Don't ask me who said it first."

"So the Dark Lord being your enemy, I assume you have studied him and his allies?" White responded. "Please, list the factions that make up his support, their values and belief and strength and weaknesses."

Harry, realizing he did not know but ought to, sent White an angry look.

"Just at least match my knowledge in your answer, and I leave the subject of history alone. Don't, and I set you another essay." White seemed to be loosing his patience.

Not that realizing the growing danger to him was going to stop Harry from stating his beliefs. "That's ridiculous; it doesn't have anything to do with history," he scoffed, his voice gaining volume.

"You will spent the evening and tomorrow morning researching and writing an essay explaining why the International Statute of Secrecy wasn't erected until 1692 even though the idea of hiding from the mundane world was over a century old by then," came the verdict.

"Why? That has nothing to do with the subject," Harry objected, again a tad louder.

"And that shows the huge extent of your ignorance!" White said, matching Harry's volume. Catching himself, he continued in a normal tone, "You will start there because it is the closest starting point that will enable you to obtain the background information to understand the current conflict."

"I understand it pretty well. Kill You-Know-Who and it's solved," Harry yelled.

"Survive that and I promise you, you will see the next wannabe tyrant rise within half a century."

"No," interrupted White as Harry started to respond, "This discussion is not leading anywhere. Have you finished your dinner? Good, start your research. I hope to have a more productive discussion tomorrow evening."

-o-O-o-

There was something worse than late-night last-minute essay writing, while some second years indulged in yet another last round of exploding snap before going to bed. It was spending a summer evening on an essay with too broad a subject, overseen by a maniac owning a gun and a lively piece of rope, knowing that you would never meet his criteria.

The silence grated on his nerves. What would happen after he finished this, would there be yet another essay to write? Would his summer become overshadowed with an endless line up of vaguely-stated essay assignments, for none of which he would ever deliver an acceptable product? Or was White the kind of man who believed in old-fashioned encouragement of learning, the kind who would reward failure to live up to his expectations with a round with that Hywar-whattis thing? Harry feared both the latter and the former were true, which would result in summer of suffering through essays alternated with suffering through beatings. So why put effort into the essays; he was doomed either way.

Having worked up his anger until it overflowed, Harry could no longer stand the silence. "So the International Confederation of Wizards was founded as a reaction to the rising Muggle hostility against magic, and the ICW then compiled the International Statute of Secrecy, which all the Ministries of Magic of all the worlds' countries then ratified. So, you said this would help me destroy Vol... He-Who-Wastes-His-Life-Fleeing-From-Death, should I perhaps knock him out with the constitutional documents?'

White had looked up from his own correspondence when Harry started talking, but instead of the annoyance Harry had anticipated the man laughed. "Anyone would be busy for quite a long time to wrestle through the jurisprudence that that body produced, long enough to starve twice over. You might restrict yourself to burying him in it." Then he continued in a more serious tone, "You do realise, I hope, that Jason only dares to refer to the Dark Lord with such contempt because his fathers built their home in our colonies on the other side of the planet."

Harry snorted. ''And you tell me I should learn history... America has not been a colony in ages."

"Oh!" White seemed shocked, overtly so, making Harry suspect him to be play-acting again. "I can not believe I missed such news, since when exactly?"

"Ehm – 1790" Harry guessed. (1)

"Really? Silly that I did not know. Anno Domini?" White waited for Harry to nod, only to continue with, "And the Stature of Secrecy is from when again?"

"1692." If there was one date a magical child would know it would be that one.

"A.D.?''

"Yes." Harry was getting irritated with the inane questions While was asking him.

"Kindly, could you count to two thousand for me?" White asked sounding falsely concerned.

"No way, why should I."

"I need some assurance that you-can-count, as you seem to believe 1692 is a bigger number then 1776."

Harry scowled. "Would you stop toying with me and just come to the point?"

"The point? Well the primary point is that you really should start to think for yourself." White smirked, when he added, "After a bit of practise it ceases to be painful. I promise."

Harry, though annoyed, knew that White wasn't going to let the discussion rest until he had wrung out of him whatever realization White was aiming at. There was nothing to it to continue muddling through.

"So the statute was before the independence of the United States of America, which means..." Harry frowns.

"The independence of the _Muggle_ United States of America." White corrected.

"You mean that Wizarding America is still part of Great-Britain?"

White shook his head. "It is not so straitforward. The equivalent of New York for instance is the wizarding city 'Nieuw Amsterdam,' which would officially fall under Dutch governance. Only officially, though, because the Wizarding community of the Netherlands has not been a recognized as sovereign Wizarding state since the second Muggle World. At least, for those who allow their worldview to be dictated by the ICW."

Harry tried to wrap his mind around this. "You mean that the Wizarding U.S. is Dutch and that the Netherlands are part of Wizarding Germany?"

"No, I mean that the wizarding communities within North America are not 'United States'. There are some colonist communities, some of those still being governed from their European founder countries, others, like Salem, independent. Apart from those there are native American _reserves_." White pronounced that last as if it was something very filthy. "Those view themselves as independent states, and about a third are recognized as such by the ICW. At a price, of course"

Harry ignored the anti-ICW jibe, deciding that he had enough on his plate without adding confusing international politics. The rest of the world just had to wait until Britain had itself sorted out again. It ought to be able to take care of its own for a short while.

"Fine," Harry shrugged. "I still don't see how all of that is going to help me defeat the evil-undying-one."

White sighed and seemed to gather his patience again. "Then name me three wizarding communities who have yet to rectify the Statute of Secrecy'"

"Are there? I thought every country in the Confederation had done so ages ago.'"

"Oh indeed, every state _in_ the Confederation has, although some much more recently then you seem to assume."

Harry blinked. "Not every country is part of the confederation?"

White nodded, waiting.

"Which aren't?"

At Harry's show of interest White smiled. "Apart from those Natives American tribes, whether from the north or the south, who refuse to divide their communities on two - or like the tribes that did comply, cheat and call all their none magical members 'squibs'? Well there are the Duchy of Burgundy, several Princedoms for instance Grindelwald and Swartswald, the Etrusks of Italy, some islands, mainly Greek, several Viking settlements, the Sami from the north, two city-states in the Pyrenees. I think that covers Europe. In Africa there are numerous tribes, trying to maintain live as it was before they were colonized by European counties. Including the whole supposedly lost ccountry of Nubia. And so on through the rest of the world."

Harry frowned. "That sounds like a lot of people."

"Indeed, in some counts, the combined population of the communities the ICW outnumbers the population represented by it."

"Most, perhaps all independent communities are mixed; magically capable and non-magically capable people live together. Most do not even record the magical ability of their population, if they are into demographics in the first place."

"Oh. I always assumed every witch or wizard supported the Statute."

"I gathered at much. Why, though?" asked White.

"I don't know. I just did. It isn't a strange thing to assume!" Harry defended himself. He wasn't too happy, as it seemed he had let himself be misled by _common knowledge_. Remembering how he had railed against all those people who wouldn't believe Voldemort was back, just because the Ministry said he wasn't, he now realized he might not be so different from them after all – just better informed in one particular topic.

White smirked, then said, "Qui bono?"

Harry tensed, believing the Latin to be a spell. While he hadn't seen White near a wand, he certainly had seen him handle enough magical items to make him wary. '_He might very well be a non-magicalcitizen of one of those mixed communities defying the ICW and the Statute. That would explain the abundance of Command activated Magical items he has. Did he name a French community? A few cities in the Pyrenees,'_if Harry remembered correctly. '_But he would probably not have mentioned his own community. Or maybe he's an American Wizard, member of some underground society, fighting for independence from would be bad,_' Harry realised, _'it would mean White would want to use me politically. 'Hell, White might even be negotiating with Voldemort;exchanging support and helping in odd-jobs now for the promise of independence from Death Eater controlled Britain later.'_

White had watched with interest when Harry was lost in his thoughts, as if careful enough observation would convey the contents of the young man's musings. When Harry returned to his surroundings again, spurred by the rush of adrenaline inspired by his conclusion, White repeated his question, "Well, qui bono?"

"Qui bono?" Harry gaped.

"Latin, Tom," White exclaimed.

'Who... benefit...'' Harry tried. ''Who benefits? From what?"

"From whatever. If you wish to know why events occur as they do, or don't occur as you would expect, the first question you ask is 'Who benefits from this?' It usually gives great insight."

Harry took a moment to absorb that. "So… how does abducting me benefit you?"

White's smile broadened. "To answer that you would need to know which political faction I belong to. What economic interests I have. And with whom I am socially connected; my family, my friends, my protégés."

Harry nodded, those were the things he wished to know, both to gauge just what he was up against as well as to help the Order to catch White once he was home with them.

White shook his head. "You know next to nothing about wizarding politics and economics in Britain, let alone in the rest of the world. I could tell you anything at all. You would not know how to tell truth from blatant invention."

"Tell me!" Harry insisted; he wasn't going to let go now that he was so close.

"Oh, well. I might as well tell you," White said, "I am an Order member and Dumbledore asked me to keep you safe for the summer."

"Yeh, right. I'm the Easter Bunny, pleased to meet you," quipped Harry offering his hand in greeting.

"You do not believe me?"

Harry answered with a derisive snort.

"If you insist then." White shrugged, "I am a member of Blanche family, which is not as large as it once was. My economic investments are mostly rural, but extend over three continents. Politically, I favour the ironist faction."

Harry nodded, hiding how little the statement meant to him.

"Ironists do not exist, not in the political sense at least," White said.

Harry swallowed an angry retort; instead he asked which political factions did exist.

"And so we are back to the original question," White smirked. "What factions are there in the Wizarding World and how do they view the current evil overlord wannabe. I do believe I had set you an essay exploring just that very topic?"

Harry growled. He was _so_ not planning to spend his summer writing history essays, even if some of them might have a not totally useless topic. Summer after fifth year was supposed to be a homework-free paradise. OWLs done and NEWT preparation not yet started. They deserved that rest after all the exam-induced stress. Not even Hermione had complained, although Harry suspected she had been planning a private study on one or two topics not covered at Hogwarts. But still!

So he groped around for another subject. "Jason Black, is he a wizard? Is he related to the Black family of London?" Harry blurted out. _'The mischievous man had looked like some distant relative of Sirius, especially if you compared both of them to the portrait of Phineus. On the other hand Jason might just as easily be a relative of this history obsessed creep. And the name Black was common enough amongst Muggles.'_

White believed a more cunning motive to be behind Harry's question. "Why are you so interested in finding out whether I'm a wizard or not? It doesn't change anything in your situation, does it? You have no access to magical devices such as your invisibility cloak, you have no access to your wand, you have no other weapons nor are you even trained to use other weapons, you do not now how to move about here, and you do not even speak the language. I, on the other hand, do know where I am, where we are going and how to get there, I do speak the language, I do have access to at least one weapon and one potentially weapon-like magical device as far as you know. I would say you are so far at a disadvantage in this situation that it would hardly matter whether I can use a wand or not."

Harry didn't really want to hear the situation he found himself in spelled out to him so detailed and he didn't really need to hear it either, as he was well aware of it; he just preferred not to think about it beyond planning escape, reasoning that thinking about the mess would only undermine his self-confidence. As there wasn't any way to react to White's words that would allow him to gain the upper hand in their conversation, Harry chose to remain silent.

"Let me put it in smaller words still so it is easier for you to understand," White began, confirming Harry's suspicion the man was trying to get a rise out of him. "Would you really behave better if I would threaten you with... say... casting the pain curse on you?"

_'Probably, it does hurt something awful_,' Harry wasn't about to voice this thought, _'If he is a wizard, he might just draw out a wand from somewhere and do just that.' _

Seeing Harry still wasn't inclined to answer White continued, "Tell me, why the pain curse is ranked amongst the Unforgivables in British Wizarding law?"

By now knowing White's tendency not to break the silence after he had asked a direct question, Harry really tried to piece together some kind of answer. He had always assumed that it was because the curse was evil and thus someone who used it would not be forgiven. However this seemed too easy an answer for the kind of questions White tended to ask. But what else could it be... _'__British__ wizarding law, sweet Merlin. Isn't it an international thing? Could one get away with casting those curses in their current location? At Durmstrang they teach the Dark Arts, so some of it must be legal in those countries – does that include the Unforgivables? Is White subtly threatening me with cruciatus?_

"Well?" prompted White.

_'Oh, yes he still wants an answer. Polyjuiced Barty Crouch had never mentioned the why of the Unforgivables he demonstrated where unforgivable. Bellatrix had said something about really wanting to cause pain. But even if she was sane enough to say anything intelligent she had more reason to lie to him then to tell him the truth._' It was all he had though. "To cast that curse you must really want to cause pain to someone. So it is always intentional," Harry half-guessed.

"A fair try," White smiled, "the Unforgivables are indeed part of that class of spells which need an emotional backup behind the will when they are cast, to fuel their power. The pain curse for instance needs the caster to enjoy causing the subject pain; the intensity of the curse never goes beyond what the caster can bring himself too consciously find pleasure in subjecting his victim to. This is because the will needs to be aligned with the emotion.

"How come you know so much about the Dark Arts?"

"Are repeating your question about my magical ability or are you trying to gain insight in my character?"

While Harry had meant the first – he especially wished to know how versed the man was in the more nasty types of magic, like curses and hexes – he didn't want White to know how uncomfortable it made him to not be able to pull out his wand at the slightest provocation.

"The latter," he said.

"I had hoped so, but do explain me why, for your answer sounded like a _guess_." The way White stressed the last word, Harry figured he meant to say '_lie'_ instead.

Off course Harry didn't have a reason; he did venture a try at giving one, but only managed to confirm he had been _guessing._

"Knowing the two things it takes to successfully cast the pain curse. Should you really be the most worried about me having the magical ability?"

"Sure, without it you can't cast the curse."

"Harry," White sighed, "Do Death Eaters really need the pain curse to torture their enemies?"

"No, they seem to favour that curse but I bet there are others they could use."

"Curses!" White snarled. "Could you stop thinking with your wand for just a few minutes? Would not having magic prevent me from having a barbeque?"

"No, uncle Vernon has them all the time during summer; he thinks it makes him a real man."

White smirked at Harry's dig at his uncle. "So I have a barbeque all lightened up filled with hot coals," White paused for just long enough for Harry to anticipate the nasty turn which would follow. "Now tell me, would I really need to wave a wand around to place those coals so they burn a lovely design on your back?"

"You won't," croaked Harry taking a step backward.

"Would you think I would not find anything I would need to tie you down in a Muggle shop?"

"You won't," Harry repeated his plea. '_White could. But he wouldn't, would he? He hasn't shot me; he has only used the gun to intimidate me. The lashing had been painful, but that wasn't on par with hot coals on bare skin. White had enjoyed watching him being chased by the lash, though. That talk about worrying about his character actually makes some sense.'_

"Of course I won't," White began, and Harry wanting to believe his captor wasn't of an evil disposition enough to enjoy torturing him relaxed a bit. Seeing this White finished, "It wouldn't be productive, would it?"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

(1) Harry guesses wrong, but you already knew not to use him as a source for history information.


	15. Failures part 1

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Failures****  
**_**Part 1**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Harry had greeted White in the morning with the promise to rewrite the essay after reading the books, hoping to be left alone another day and planning quite different activities involving neither books nor parchment. Much to his delight White fell for it and had left soon after he had read the morning paper. The paper was still in French and White still read it out loud, though Harry pretended to ignore this now. Harry sat staring at the cuckoo clock pared with modern art hanging at the wall of the suites sitting room for thirteen whole minutes before his patience ran out and he convinced himself he had allowed enough time for White had to have left the Hotel. That now was a perfect time to run for it.

-o-O-o-

˜My Love. Sssso Pensssive? Ssssulking ssstill?˜ Nagini greeted him coming back from her hunt.

˜Pondering some interesting developmentsss, Sssweetnesss mine.˜ He answered her. ˜I told our ssservantsss I changed my plansss for the boy-enemy.˜

˜To ssseek to control him inssstead of allowing me to feassst on his young tender flesssh?˜ Nagini was obviously still harbouring some regret at missing out on revenge on the one who caused their lamented separation.

˜Depending on the exact contentsss of that prophesssy, you might still come to feassst on his flesssh, dear, jussst not the way you planned˜, he teased. Turning serious again he continued, ˜It ssseemsss one of our ssservantsss decided to proove himssself and went out acting without ordersss.˜

˜You laud initiative˜, Nagini argued.

˜When it bringsss desssirable resultsss˜, he amended.

˜They failed?˜ Nagini purred.

He barked out a laugh at her obvious relish. His beloved was getting overtly bloodthirsty; he'd better have one of his servants bring her a Muggle to feed on. Yes, a small child, to make up for her missing out on the Potter-boy. ˜No, it ssseemsss they sssucceeded.˜

˜Then, why isss the boy not here?˜

˜That isss the question that I wasss pondering, my Queen.˜

Nagini scoffed, ˜I do not sssee either of usss sssitting on a throne.˜

Not yet sssweetheart but ssssoon , he answered, before concentrating on casting a complex transfiguration spell on his familiar.

Painfully slowly, the snake transformed into a black beauty, skin, hair and lips all perfectly black, like a newly bought Hogwarts robe, only relieved by the white of the eyes and the irises it surrounded; irises yellow like the sun.

Smiling he pulled her unto his lap. She smiled back before leaning closer. Being able to hold and kiss her again, after so many lonely years, was a delight only marred by the knowledge that he was still much to weak to keep the spell going during anything more invigorating.

-o-O-o-

The park-like garden felt tranquil; still, one could not miss being in big city for the claxons of the cars in the nearby streets constantly disturbed the birdsong. Harry had installed himself at one of the tables on the far side of the patio, in a quiet corner but in full view of the waiter tending the outdoor bar. While he was working on the essay he hoped would appease White, Harry was amusing himself with trying out all the different sodas available. He had yet to find one as good as the one White had given him in Majorca. In his memory, that was the best he ever tasted. Of course, he had been very warm and thirsty from climbing up to the little white church at the time. The waiter had not recognised the drink form the description he gave; he claimed it must be a local drink to Majorca.

Harry was glad to be outside again; after spending most of the morning in a holding cell, being able to look up and have now walls baring his view made him feel free. Which, sadly, he wasn't, for if he was, he would not be writing an essay on the formation of the Statute. Instead, he would be on a plane headed to London. Or better yet, he would be… - what would he do? – on his broom travelling across the African continent, seeing the wildlife in the savannas?… '_Yeah, that would be so cool_.'

Harry had neither his broom nor a plane ticket, the first being hidden away by White. '_He had better be taking good care of it, or I'll… I'll make him regret it_.' As for the second, he had asked Mr Willkommen, but the man had refused to buy him one, stating it was too dangerous for him to travel alone. Mr. Willkommen was a member of the hotels management; Harry had not understood what exactly the man was responsible for – it sounded important, but couldn't really be, not if the man's job included picking up runaways from the police station. Harry would probably still be there, willing the policemen to understand English, if not for him. Apparently, the name on the hotel's business card didn't only impress taxi drivers but held some esteem for members of the city's police corps, too. It might be seen as a sign of the profoundness of his distress that afternoon, but when Mr. Willkommen had introduced himself and invited him to tell his story; Harry had told him the truth. Well, more or less, he had for instance not used words like 'wizards' and magic', but he had told as faithful a rendering as he dared. Mr. Willkommen had patiently listened to his story and, more importantly, had believed him. While he had refused to buy Harry a ticked to London, he had promised to contact the British police, if Harry promised he would not run away again. Harry had already more or less given up on trying to reach Britain by himself. This change of plans was mainly affected by this morning's rather disastrous attempt.

So now Harry was hoping that the Auror Office was kept up to date with Muggle missing persons reports and that either Tonks or Shacklebolt would realise that _Harry James Granger _was someone they knew. Otherwise, he had to wait till Hermione and her parents were located; they had been planning to go to Austria and, as their phone had been left unanswered on all Harry's attempts, they had probably already left. He planned to keep trying to contact them at home anyhow. Harry trusted Hermione would quickly pick up on the story invented when asked about her brother; even her parents should be familiar enough with juggling the Muggle and Wizarding '_truths'_ to spin a proper response on the spot, or so he hoped. He had not dared to use his own name lest Voldemort have spies amongst the Aurors; besides, he had needed to name a family he had been abducted from and the Dursleys might very well deny knowing him.

Mr. Willkommen had advised him to be biddable to White in the meantime to prevent the man from getting angry with him again. He seemed to think Harry had been exaggerating the lashing White put him through, as there remained no indication of it on his back whatsoever. Harry could not appreciate the irony that now that he finally had a magical healing salve available to him during the summer holidays - something he had often longed for when living with the Dursleys - it was working against his interests.

Harry felt like a real coward for giving up like this. He had fought a basilisk, outflown a dragon, even dueled Voldemort - in several forms - and managed to get away with his life, yet he found himself unable to get away from a squib kidnapper. All the same, being locked all morning in a small, bare room had give him ample time to think and he had grudgingly come to the conclusion that White must be telling the truth and had indeed found some way to fool Dumbedore's wards into focusing on his person. How else could he have had so much bad luck when escaping? The bad luck increased each time too. This morning's situation had gotten outright dangerous. Getting mixed up in a gang-war firefight would always be a hazard, even if he'd had his wand. Seeing the police force turn up had been a relief; realizing how dependent he was on his wand to defend himself was anything but. '_I am being sensible, keeping my head down and letting Mr. Willkommen help me out. Why does it feel like giving up? I should be able to get something out of it if I give in. But how to go about that…' _

At least he was no longer wearing those ridiculous clothes White had bought. He had only made a slight comment about the long trousers being awkward in the hot weather and Mr. Willkommen had offered to arrange a personal shopper to get him some shorts and shirts. Harry had said yes, of course, wondering how someone could choose a job that involved extensive shopping. '_Hmm, Lavender or Parvati would be over the moon , maybe I should give them some career advice._'

The shopper had been talkative and easy-going; she had asked him some rather weird questions, claiming that these allowed her to get to know his taste. Two hours later she had returned, followed by two bellmen carrying more shopping bags then even Aunt Petunia had when preparing for her Duddykin's birthday. She said she would return everything he didn't like. Pleased with normal clothes that were all his own, he had kept everything.

So when Rene returned late in the afternoon, Harry was just putting the final touch on his essay. Sitting there surrounded by books, a half-full glass of bitter-lemon before him on the table, he looked for all the world like he had been there all day – just the impression Mr. Willkommen had recommended aiming for. He had also promised to instruct the personnel to look out for him. It was clearly meant as a way to shield him from White's temper, although Harry expected it also meant that he was being watched. For now, though, the constrictions on Whites's behaviour brought about by the frequent glances of the barkeeper in their direction, were more reassuring then irritating; White would have to keep his gun and any overtly magical objects out of sight. Come to think of it, the man might have been a bit careless with his gadgets at some point, for, before leaving him at the patio table, Mr. Willkommen had impressed on Harry to come to see him if "Monseigneur de Blanche" tried anything "weird." He had sounded so uncomfortable when saying this that Harry was glad he had hidden his magical background.

-o-O-o-

It appeared Cristiaan's talk with Harry had helped on the boys attitude. Harry had courteously accepted the sightseeing brochures he had brought. The boy had even started leafing through them with uncertain enthusiasm and proceeded to politely discuss the attractiveness of each option. Furthermore, when René had set them a program for the next few days, Harry had expressed his wishes without contesting his decision. While the teen was clearly forcing himself to be amiable, René could not detect any hint of duplicity, laying to rest his fears that Harry was planning to use their outings to try to slip away. René was glad to see the change in the boy's attitude. If he had not already known what had caused it, he would not have believed his luck and would have set out to investigate the sudden change.

Upon accepting the brochures, Harry had given him several sheets of paper filled with broad, sloppy handwriting. Rene only just managed to keep back a satisfied smirk when accepting the essay. '_Indeed, he just needs a firm hand.' _Any worry he might have had of overdoing it and cowing the boy beyond being useful quickly disappeared. Though, Christiaan might have a point about him needing to build a relationship with Harry before trying to guide the lad.

Taking his irritation with Harry's ignorance out on the boy was surely not helping. It was not really fair, either, for he knew very well who was responsible for it. All the same, while he could not blame the boy for being kept in the dark and parroting the half-truths he had been fed – knowing firsthand the fanaticism adults could put behind molding a child to their worldview – Harry's lack of inquiry was distressing. Still, Christiaan had a point saying that no child appreciated studying during summer holidays. '_We both hated it. We used to try to pester the summer teachers hired for us into leaving. How livid Father would get the few times we managed to succeed,_' White recalled fondly. But even their parents had stimulated them explore the world and form their own conclusions, although they knew the risks. He had strayed from the convictions of his youth but would always agree with at least one of his parents' beliefs: that to prevent a child from growing into his own person was a crime worse than any of the Unforgivables. '_I should find out what Harry values and build from that,_' he realized.

While Christiaan's advice about relaxing on the summer study issue sounded wise, René knew he would have difficulties forcing himself to follow it. The young man just knew so little. While Hogwart's feeble curriculum was handy when planting tutors in the houses of the rich and influential, gathering as much information as dispersing it, it constituted to a real annoyance now.

Speaking of informants - from what he had observed of Harry, he had seriously become to doubt the information his British spy-master had been able to provide about the Boy-Who-Lived. Given the fellow's usual standard, this was unexpected, but explicable if one considered that all intelligence coming out of Hogwarts was gathered by children. Pity Harry seemed to be so adverse to Slytherin's Head of House. Slughorn always made sure to know as much as possible about students who managed to gain his interest and he could be cajoled into spilling all in an alcohol-induced boast. '_Ah, the poor man, to be rebuked like that by the biggest prize to ever pass through his classroom._'

'_Typical_,' René mused. '_That short conversation with Christiaan has actually helped me to gain a clearer view more than the long one with Jason_.' Though it felt unreal to be corrected in a grandfatherly manner by a man whose study he had sponsored. In hindsight, it was amazing Christiaan had pulled it off so smoothly.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


	16. Failures part 2

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Failures****  
**_**Part 2**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The longer he listened to the smoky female voice, the more it fuelled his displeasure. The voice itself was nice to listen to, sultry and hushed, but each phrase its owner uttered spoke of more incompetence, in both her ability to face and hide her failure.  
"Enough," he interrupted her abruptly. "How difficult can it possibly be to get some simple facts from one of the pale faced, socially challenged clerks from the office of records?"

The woman, a neophyte in their circle, had not yet learned to fear his displeasure and her annoyance at being criticised threatened to get the better of her awe for him. '_Good, let her dare to show disrespect,_' he thought, running his fingers along the smooth yew of his wand in anticipation.

"I have them wrapped around my wand, my Lord; they just don't know why Black's will won't probate; none of their spells signify anything wrong with it."

'_Incompetent fools.'_ He inwardly cursed the ministry clerks. "The will won't probate because Dumbledore wants to keep using the Black family's resources. He must have done something to the will!" Harry heard himself snap.

"If I may, my Lord," Brown ventured, stepping forward.

Madam Brown was one of the old crowd, trained well enough to wait for his acknowledgement before continuing, "The Blacks are well-known to be a strictly traditional family and their blood traitor spawn went against their beliefs and customs whenever he could, simply to spite them. Yet, he never truly understood the magically-sustained traditions that he turned against. Those who do would never betray their heritage like that. He might easily have written something in his will that went against the Black Dictum."

"You mean to say that if the traitor's will went against the dictum, it isn't valid? And moreover, that without a clear heir and no valid will, the Black inheritance will be decided by the rulings generations of Blacks have written in their book of law enforcing them with their magic?"he hissed.

"Indeed, Master, the book would be well-guarded, hidden amongst the family's most precious heirlooms no doubt. Without access to the book, no heir can be named; no one would even know what rules dictate the family's inheritance."

And until the new head-of-family chose to come forward, he or she would remain unknown. No one could possibly know who would be named, but better to have someone to blame for it later. "As you seem such an expert on these matters…" Harry let his sentence trail off menacingly, "I want the Black estate in our hands. Their library and their dark heirlooms are too precious to allow those Phoenix fools destroy them. Salvage this mess!"

Madame Brown obviously realised the improbability of success at this task, for while her face was hidden by her mask, Harry could smell her fear. It made him heady, but he remained furious all the same. Harry pointed his wand at the still-kneeling woman: time for her to learn to fear him, too. "_Crucio_."

Harry gasped, pressing both hands to his scar and sitting up in his bed. Luckily, he had recognized the dream for a vision and had been able to anticipate Voldemort cursing the woman, so he had managed not to scream.

'_And I really don't want White sticking his nose into this!'_

-o-O-o-

The lions leapt forward, growling as they sprinted in his direction. Harry jumped back. He'd never realised just how big and strong those animals really were up close and how, somehow, cat teeth seemed to be a lot sharper when they where placed in mouths big enough to tear your head off. The man standing behind him caught and stabilised him, while the lions tore at the meat that lay waiting for them in their cage. The large cats were only a few meters away from where Harry was standing in the staff-only area of the Feline House. Their guide had offered Harry the opportunity to feed some of the animals; Gryffindor pride had made Harry insist on feeding the lions. At first, the guide refused to allow this, but White had taken Harry's side and effortlessly convinced their guide to let him.

'_The way that man talks people into giving in to whatever he wants is truly scary,_' Harry thought.

Normally, the guide had told them, the zookeepers tossed the food into the outside part of the lion's den through a shutter while the lions remained in view of the public, "to give the visitors a bit of a show." However, he wouldn't let Harry do that and White had not intervened after the man had explained the procedure in detail. Harry had been a bit disappointed about it, but at the moment, he was grateful there were thick bars between them and the hungry pride.

'_So long as those bars stay there…'_ Harry suddenly had a fleeting feeling of how Dudley must have felt when the boa constrictor had escaped and lunged at him, as, to his cousin, the snake had not been a nice fairytale-like talking animal. Of course, Dudley being like an evil talking animal to all of the neighbourhood's younger children, he had deserved what he got. But it was nice to be able to appreciate the big lump's terror a little more.

The guide had shown them around the zoo since they'd arrived, telling them about the different animals, how they lived in the wild, and how the zoo cared for them. He was mixing facts with funny tales so well that his stories never got boring. Harry had been surprised to learn that the animals were not just kept there for people to stare at. Using connections with other zoos worldwide, the guide told them, the zoo participated in a number of breeding programs designed to preserve genetic diversity within the species and reintroducing animals in places where they had become extinct. His mention of genetics had let to an impromptu biology lesson about heredity, a lesson that had been intersected with mutters about how schools shouldn't be allowed to teach based on religious beliefs. Harry had ignored those mutters as he found the genetics subject fascinating, especially what the guide told them about the dangers of inbreeding in a population - whether animal or human; the guide appeared of the firm conviction that humans were just one other kind of mammal - and the counter measure practice of crossing a domesticated race back with a wild counterpart to increase the vitality of the stock again. Though, he didn't think that even crossbreeding would be drastic enough to save the Goyle or Crabbe families – and it would be cruel to the orang-utans.

'_Wouldn't it be fun, if someone proved that non-pure bloods were overall healthier and magically stronger? On the other hand, those stuck up idiots would never believe it. Not until they die out in a few generations_…'

Harry had first thought the guide was a friend of White's and had been confused when he left them for lunch. White had explained to him that he was paying the zoo for their tour and Harry had believed White was pulling his leg again.

"Zoos don't do that; if they did uncle Vernon would have arranged a guide for Dudley's birthday," he'd said.

White had simply smirked. "Your aunt and uncle, for all their efforts to appear well-off, do not have the slightest idea what real affluence means."

Harry had not been able to appreciate White's dig at the Dursleys, for his smirk and his assertion of wealth was too reminiscent of Malfoy and his ilk. They'd finished their lunch in silence and Harry was relieved when their guide returned for the rest of the tour.

-o-O-o-

His plan for the day had been simple: let the boy shed some of his pent-up energy at the zoo, at the same time observing him in order to get some firsthand knowledge about the boy's personality. He had been afraid the teen would be easily bored, as zoos held not nearly as much fascination for teenage boys then they did for younger ones. So he had arranged for someone else to be responsible in keeping him entertained, with the added bonus of watching how Harry interacted with the man, something that turned out to be different than he had expected. Harry still had that fascination with wild animals from far-off places that pre-teenage boys have. Harry had also displayed a curiosity that, until now, had been hidden, keeping the guide on his toes with his frequent questions. At first, he had thought that the teen was just doing so as a way to avoid interacting with him, especially since the questions were very basic, but as their tour continued, Harry's questions became more and more insightful, building from answers earlier received.

'_That horrid excuse for a family; both the whale and the giraffe must have been content just to let him and their own boy gawk at the animals, never even bothering to read the sign plates for them_.'

Harry had been so unrelenting that the guide felt the need to call on his lack of rank to gain a quiet, question-free lunch. Much to his pleasure, Harry had remained in his inquisitive mood and had directed questions to him instead, until their conversation turned to money and status, subjects that the young man seemed utterly uncomfortable with.

'_Whoever decided to print the Boy-Who-Lived is spoiled must be the epitome of lazy journalism. And in the Prophet! Rubina might manage higher standards, if she intended to sink the paper_. Harry's discomfort needed to go, though. That wouldn't be difficult. _'Spoil him, until he expects to be indulged, with the added bonus that it's harder to dislike somebody who pampers you,'_ White decided, as he steered Harry into the zoo's tourist shop after the guide had bid them farewell.

Harry seemed surprised when they entered the shop. But after he'd answered the teens questioning look with a nod, the youngster set out to the goodies; the cheap plastic ones, unfortunately. With a little steering, he managed to get Harry to the more high-quality part of the shop's inventory, where the boy fell for a hardwood chessboard with hand-carved animals for the pieces, which was on exhibition in one of the shop's glass cases to prevent it from disappearing unpaid for. The look on Harry's face when he was instructed to get the shopkeeper was one of disbelieve warring with delight. This had inspired him into asking the boy whether the shop held any other things he fancied, which had let to his turn for disbelief mixed with delight - which he, of course, kept for himself instead of displaying it on his face for all the world to see - as Harry then selected some books. '_Well, maybe he hopes that I will allow him to read them instead of the history ones. It might not be unconstructive to indulge him in this for the moment._'

When they were at the counter to purchase the items, he noticed that one of the books was about snakes. '_Interesting_.' Harry had seemed interested in the animals at the reptile house, but at the same time he had been very skittish. It had been the only place the young man had kept silent. Harry had looked relieved when they'd left the place. '_Hard to believe he would be afraid of snakes, but begging to feed the lions. He surely is taking the Hogwarts house prejudices a bit too seriously, if they carry over to the animals that inspired the houses mascots.'_

-o-O-o-

It was already past midnight when they got back from Majorca, pitying the fact that the field of arithmancy was not yet advanced enough to tweak the Apparition spell to function over large bodies of water. Bless the foresight of the Auror Office to have several password-activated Portkeys in stock for places all over the world; they were unfortunately restricted in their use for Aurors only, making the task of searching the isle of Majorca for the wayward Dursley family fall to their shoulders.

Molly was still up. She claimed to have had to clean up a sudden outbreak of some fast growing fungus, which really could not have been left until the morning. He and Tonks had pretended to believe her.

Arthur had told him not even a month ago that he'd hoped Molly would become somewhat calmer after they had moved to Grimmauld Place and the Weasley family was safely under Headquarters' Fidelius charm instead of waiting for the Augury to sing. (1) Unfortunately, the move seemed only to have emphasised the upcoming war to her.

Personally, Kingsley believed that a mother hen like her would never be content until she had all her ducklings – and that included the Muggleborn bookworm and the Boy-Who-Lived – sitting around her kitchen table, freshly washed and with all knowledge of the outside world obliviated from their minds. He wouldn't put it past her to cook them up some Settlers' Pride potion to take all will to explore from her ducklings' hearts.

It was plain that it saddened her to have her eldest settled so far from her, even though it wasn't all that far in physical distance for them. How she managed to remain so frightfully blind to the part she played in their decisions to do so was a mystery to him. Kingsley wasn't about to try to get through to her about that, though. He knew Tonks had tried; she had confessed this to him when he had asked why Molly was ignoring her.

He refused to coddle to others' weaknesses, so he didn't say a thing when Molly looked at him expectantly. Too tired to apparate home, he headed for one of the upstairs bedrooms, leaving the reporting to Tonks. Shortly, Molly's need to know would win out from the lingering anger she felt for the girl.

He cast an Imperturbable Charm on his door to hold off the shrieks and cries that would undoubtedly follow the sharing of their news. Undoubtedly, as their news was not good, even for Molly - whom he believed lacked the understanding to grasp its full implications - there was no possible way to give it even the slightest positive spin. Regardless of whether this White fellow was some rogue or acting on You-Know-Who's instructions, Kingsley had to respect the mind that came up with this scheme. He wasn't an expert on archaic magical contacts – or on blood magic, for that matter – but the feel of the magic permeating that document was disturbing. It reminded him of his sister's marriage contract; if he had to venture a guess, he'd say that this contract would likewise hold influence on the mindset and behaviour of the individuals involved_. 'So simple, yet so disastrously effective; not good news at all.' _Too bad the Order didn't include an Unspeakable; access to the knowledge kept tucked away from the larger magical community in the department's labyrinth-like quarters would come along way to figure out what kind of trouble that boy had gotten into this time_. 'If only the boy wasn't pivotal to our victory, we would be free put real effort in halting You-Know-Who's increasing sway over our community, instead of wasting our time babysitting_.' Kingsley sighed as his head hit the pillow. He hoped he would have time to catch some hours of sleep, before the unavoidable emergency order meeting. '_Stupid Muggles_.'

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

(1)

Auguries' song was long believed to cause death, hence the saying; "waiting for the augury to sing" meaning 'staying in a situation or place that can turn deathly dangerous in an instance'.  
Not to be confused with: "Whistling the Grim to lead one home" which is used to describe the infirm and sick who are longing for their deaths.


	17. Failures part 3

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Failures****  
**_**Part 3**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

In the welcome silence of his dungeon quarters, Severus poured himself a glass of spirits. His own brew, of course. And, as knowing what went into the brew didn't put him off, the lurid brownish-yellow light it gave off wouldn't, either.

Severus took a small sip and slowly let it roll over his tongue. _'Better than the last batch_.' He would have been disappointed had he not improved the drink, like he did each summer. It would have meant he was loosing his tough. This would again sell well, and leave the drinkers thirsty for more.

_'At least, it will sell amongst those who want their money's worth in booze and not pay for famous names and fancy bottles instead, unlike those with too much money thrown into their labs without having worked for it, like Black and Potter. No, the people drinking my brew know it is just as good as, say, Ogden's Firewhiskey and they don't feel the need to tattle about 'smoky palette' and 'acquired taste' to make their drinking mates believe they could taste the difference, showing themselves to have just as much 'class' as their drinking fellows, who also pretended they could taste a variation that wasn't really there_'. He himself could taste it; any good Potions Master would.

There was a huge difference between his brew and Ogdens; not so much in the flavour, but where it really mattered: in the difference between the amount of gold in Ogden's Gringotts vault and his. '_Unfortunately, I lack the connections to sell my brews as fancy high-end stuff. I could have retired from teaching and have both the time and the money for researching, to get my name into the history of potions permanently._'

Settling into his chair and lighting up the hearth with a quick _Incendio_, he reluctantly forced his thoughts to more serious matters. At the meeting, he had delivered his carefully prepared report about how Dumbledore had spirited Potter away to have him trained in Occlumency, as Dumbledore believed this would further discourage his Lord from trying to peek into the brat's mind. Silly story; judging from what he had learned about the happenings at the ministry, Severus believed further discouragement would be overkill. '_On the other hand, those too pathetic to accept a little pain to realise their ambitions are hardly true Slytherins, and none would call their Lord unworthy of the Slytherin House,'_ Severus thought.

This carefully constructed report, however, had been met with hearty laughter. His Lord clearly did not believe a word of it. Luckily, the Dark Lord had believed the deception to be the Headmaster's, so he had gotten away with only a mild reprimand and the suggestion that he needed to place himself deeper into the trust of both Dumbledore and the Phoenix-idiots.

Even though there had been no immediate personal negative effects, the laughter still made Severus nervous, for it led him to conclude that their Lord knew Potter was outside of Dumbledore's sphere of control. Severus expected this to prompt the Dark Lord to send his Death Eaters out in search parties to capture the boy before the order managed to retrieve the brat. However, Severus hadn't found any indication that the Dark Lord had done anything.

'_Either, for some unknown reason, the Dark Lord isn't staging a search or he is and I am actively being kept out of it_,' thought Severus. '_The first is hard to believe; the second is not a good forecast for my own wellbeing_.' Severus took another swallow, slowly; it wouldn't do to choke on his own brew. All things considered, Severus refused to believe he was so far into trouble as to be left out, so there was one question left. _'Why would the Dark Lord not have us search for brat?'_

_'He already knows, where the brat is,'_ Severus answered his own question with his next mouthful, nearly choking. After catching his breath, he could focus his thoughts again; _'That doesn't add up. If our Lord knows Potter to be unprotected and knows where to find him, Potter would be already dead_.'

_'Yet Dumbledore has ascertained to the Order that the child was as well as always, as shown by the tracking devices in his office._ _Not dead then, captured_.' Another mouthful, almost too much to be comfortable to swallow. ' _So, he has the boy captured somewhere and has decided to leak that the child is gone, while the Order doesn't know yet. As a tease? To fish out leaks in our ranks?'_

"Mordred's Mercy Non-existent!"

Splashing his drink as he whisked the Floo powder from the mantelpiece, Severus wasted not a heartbeat to contact the headmaster, to plot a way out, acting more out of fear for his own wellbeing than any consideration for Potter's. '_He seems to be fine, if those instruments are to be believed, and a bit of reality will serve the arrogant pampered little prince just fine._'

-o-O-o-

Now this was a proper vacation, Harry thought. Yesterday they had gone sailing. It was not what they had planned, but there had been a lot of wind. The weather had been just short of stormy and White had insisted that, for sailing to be fun, you needed it to be just a little bit dangerous. It had been glorious, the way the little boat White had got from somewhere had cut though the water of the lake. Lying flat, they had been close enough to the water to touch it, but when sailing, the boat tilted and they sat on the high side; the low side had been almost in the water.

Unfortunately, their trip had ended abruptly when Harry had mentioned that he had never learned to swim. They had been talking about the Triwizard Tournament and Harry had wondered aloud whether the gillyweed had done more than just give him gills. White had confirmed that the gillyweed might have also given him some prowess in the water, but the man didn't know it for certain. He had immediately set course for land, promising Harry as many sailing trips as he wanted, as soon as Harry had learned to swim well enough to save himself should he fall into the water. The process had begun this morning and, according to White, would continue every morning that they had water available for Harry to practise in. The bastard had insisted that there was nothing like a fresh dive to wake up in the morning – of course, he wasn't the one swimming.

The afternoon had been spent at a fair , where Harry had won a great stuffed lion shooting at cardboard ducklings. It had taken him the better part of their afternoon and quite some coaching from White. And from sparkling eyes in the vendor, they had spent the price for the lion several times over for him to try long enough to gather the points to win it. In the end he had, so it wasn't just some teddy bear, it was a trophy and therefore deserved its place of pride on the bed next to Harry's cushion.

Today, White had taken him to a shooting range to try his hand at the real thing. It had been scary, to know you held a deadly weapon in your hand and that a mistake could be fatal, but at the same time, strangely exhilarating. Somehow, it had been different from holding a wand; spells could be dangerous – even deadly, too. Maybe it was because Harry knew and trusted his magic, especially when using his wand to control it. Wild magic or potions were quite another thing.

Wands were more quiet; even with the compulsory earmuffs, the bang of firing a gun was loud and the way the gun shot up after every shot was strange – wands where far easier to control. On the other hand, aiming was easier, as you just pointed at where you wanted to shoot; no need to make swishes and flicks with the gun and timing them just right. All of his practise with spell-casting was paying off with the shooting, it seemed, because no one at the range had believed he had only started the day before.

All things considered, Harry decided, he preferred his wand. It was cleaner, too, for gunpowder had gotten everywhere, most of it in his nose of all places. That was why they had gone back to the hotel to refresh and have tea, of course. '_White might speak French like he was born and bred here, but he's such an Englishman when some things are concerned_.'

Next, they would be going to the movies. Harry held a booklet detailing the films available in the city, which he was to choose from. Never having been allowed to go to a movie before, they all seemed wonderful. White, however, seemed partial to a series called Star Wars, as it sounded just as interesting as the others, Harry had chosen that one, so that he could extend an olive-branch to White.

White had also asked him about his friends, which led to talk about Ron and chess, which had let to talk about the Weasleys, whom White seemed to know a bit about. Harry knew he should be attempting to find out how White knew them and what he knew about them, but the urge to complain about how adults, and especially how Mrs. Weasley kept everything, especially the most important things regarding him, a secret from him was stronger.

"Mrs. Weasley is worried about you; she cares about you and she believes you are too skinny, too small and in need of a lot of hugs."

Harry blinked. "How would you know?"

"I deduced the jumpers were gifts from her, as your school friends would be a bit too young to show such adeptness in their making."

"So she makes me a jumper every Christmas. Everyone in the family gets one, and none of her sons can possibly be considered too small!"

"Go get one of the jumpers from your suitcase," White ordered Harry in response.

Curious as to what White would come up with this time, Harry decided to go along with it and went to fetch a jumper.

He had kept them all, all five the Christmas gifts Mrs. Weasley had knitted for him, even though only the most recent one still fit him. When the topic of the jumpers had come up, he had become anxious as well as ashamed; anxious that White might have disposed of them along with Dudley's hand-me-downs and ashamed because he had not thought about them before. While he was relieved to learn at least one had been spared the make-over White had given his wardrobe, he now needed to ascertain they were all still safe.

To his relief, all five of them were still there. The four oldest ones had been carefully wrapped in a thin white cloth that reeked of camphor. Having been assured that they were still there, he quickly wrapped up the bundles again, stowed them back in his wardrobe and took the latest jumper with him back into the suite's parlour.

He held the jumper out to White, but the man signalled for him to keep it and to sit down in one of the stuffed armchairs.

"Put it down on the armrest. Yes; now close your eyes and take stake of how you feel."

Harry tried, but sitting there with his eyes closed only made him feel ridiculous. He informed White of this as he opened his eyes again.

That was the start of a rather strange sequence, in which White told him to relax different parts of his body one after another by feeling how the chair supported them. It ended with White telling him to imagine roots growing from his feet and his bum, but by that time, it didn't sound half as ridiculous as it ought. The silliest thing was that, all the while, White kept reminding him to breathe – which was something he could do in his sleep, thank you very much.

At last, the man seemed satisfied with his state of relaxation and Harry felt the jumper being placed in his hands.

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed. "It's fuzzy – warm, just glowing with it, so cuddly…" Harry whispered in wonder.

"Put it on."

Harry did. The feeling of being loved and cared for increased. _Of course it feels like that. Mrs. Weasley made it for me_, Harry realised.

"Isn't it dinner time yet?" he asked, opening his eyes again.

White laughed. "Not yet; do you want to go out to grab a snack or would you prefer to take off the jumper?"

Harry's eyes grew wide. "The jumper is making me think of food?"

"Amongst other things, yes."

"Are you saying that Mrs. Weasley somehow did this on purpose?"

"Obviously; why would a witch go through all the trouble of making clothes by hand if not to imbue them with her magic?"

Harry eyed the jumper with new found appreciation. "Let's go for a snack, then."

-o-O-o-

Thank you for taking a minute to drop me a review ;-)


	18. Good Intentions part 1

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Good Intentions****  
**_**Part 1**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Harry didn't hear White move until the water had gone lukewarm and the skin in his fingers had wrinkled. He had been woken in the dark of night by Hedwig, who had been hooting desperately from a tree branch near his window. He'd been dreaming of being chased by dementors, so the interruption had been doubly welcome.

He'd been happy to hear from her, but shocked when he saw her. She looked exhausted and underfed. _'The poor thing has flown all over the channel and across France and clearly White had been right that that was outside of the normal delivery distance of post-owls._'

He had left the letter she carried for later and phoned the hotel staff for an early English breakfast, intending to feed Hedwig on bacon and sausages. The efficiency with which his wishes had been granted had left him wondering whether the hotel secretly employed house elves. Hedwig had nearly attacked the food, but for some reason had refused to come in, which Harry thought was for the better, for it would be easier to hide her if she remained outside. White knew of the existence of post owls, and he didn't want the man to know he could communicate with the Order. On the other hand, he didn't want to send Hedwig on that trip again.

_'Better wait for what Mr. Willkommen comes up with. White isn't too bad at the moment_,' Harry decided. Hedwig would be fine in the tree near his window, and when she was rested, she might do some hunting for fresh moles or mice herself. And until then, he could always order more snacks for her.

Harry snickered. _'I wonder if they would bring me live mice if I asked for them.'_

The letter had been Ron's reply to his note informing the Order that he was joining the Dursleys on their trip to Majorca. Ron was inviting him to stay with them instead of this relatives for the remainder of the summer, which would have been splendid, had Ron not also mentioned that his family had relocated to London. No, Harry wouldn't mind spending a few days more in the company of White – the man might be odd, occasionally, but it beat being locked up in Grimmauld Place any day, especially now that the man had forgone his obsession with history.

Unable to go back to sleep, he'd settled for the bath; the hotel's toiletries where fabulous. Their smell made him feel all uplifted and happy; Harry wished he could try them out in Hogwarts prefect bath.

-o-O-o-

Breakfast - the second for Harry - was disturbed by hooting from outside. For a moment, Harry feared that Hedwig would be found out; then he saw the dark brown owl sitting on the balcony railing. It had a package in it claws. White went to open the balcony doors. Harry noticed that this owl also made no move to come inside; White just took the package and gave the animal some bacon. It flew away in the direction of Hedwig's tree, but luckily White didn't linger to watch it leave.

"Here, this would be yours," White said handing the package to Harry.

Harry frowned. "I didn't order anything".

"No, I did; someone should have given one to you ages ago."

Harry shrugged at White's words and opened the package. Out came a little blue box.

'_A jewellery box?_' Harry asked himself, flipping it open "An earring? Why would I want one of those?"

The tiny stud was gold with a colourless stone on it; for all Harry knew, it could have been glass, but knowing White, it was probably diamond or something equally expensive.

"You are giving me jewellery?" Harry asked suspiciously; he had no idea why any one would want to give him such a thing. Not even the letters 'fans' occasionally sent him had ever contained jewellery. Photos, sometimes – some of those even showing more than they should, to the hilarity of the Gryffindor boys – but never jewellery. "That's just wrong!"

"It's not meant for adornment," White said in response to Harry's discomfort. "Feel it, like you did with the jumper."

Harry tried, curious as to what would come up this time. _'It might tell me something about what he wants me for_.'

At first nothing came to him, so Harry settled in his chair again and set himself to the relaxation exercise, which turned out to be much more difficult without White talking him through it. He kept losing his concentration. He was about to give up on it when White started giving him little hints. He said much less then the first time, just enough for Harry to keep going.

"It feels real heavy. Sort of unyielding. Like I am rooted to this spot and will never move from it again." Harry frowned and quickly put the thing back in its box. "What are you playing at?"

"It is an Anchor," White explained calmly. "It will prevent all magical means of travel not initiated by you yourself, including things like side-along Apparition and portkey travel. Had you been wearing one during the third task..."

White trailed off; he obviously remembered Harry's reluctance to discuss the Triwizard Tournament, especially the third task. From the questions White had asked him, Harry had gathered that the man knew quite a lot about what had happened; more then he could have gotten from the papers.

Harry looked again at the piece of jewellery, now safely in its box. _'A protection against abduction, then.'_

"You're afraid someone from the Order will find me and take me home," he stated.

"I already told you that I am not afraid of that lot. But if it helps, you would be the only one that can remove the Anchor once it is placed, and you would be able to do so at anytime."

'_The earring sounds helpful, but still..._' Harry thought. "Why couldn't you have ordered a pendant and necklace?"

"It needs to be pierced through flesh to work," White responded.

"You do not need to worry about that," he added, "it is spelled not to hurt when put on and will leave no hole when removed."

_'It does sound kinda cool,'_ Harry considered.

He started bringing the stud to his ear, when White interrupted, "It is meant for your bellybutton."

"My bellybutton? No way!"

"Portkey travel hooks closer to the belly then to the ear; theoretically you could get splinched if you wear the anchor too far off."

"Theoretically?" Harry asked, suspecting from White's choice of words it would not be so dangerous in practise.

"Theoretically, as no one has been willing to act the flobberworm and try it, unless you volunteer," said White, glancing inquiringly at Harry, who shook his head. "Practically, while no one can take it out but you, it is not so difficult to separate you from your ear."

Harry was spared one of the man's smirks by a high piercing sound that seemed to originate from the man's pocket.

White, with a quick 'excuse me,' disappeared into his own room, all the while taking something gold-ish out of said pocket.

'_Maybe one of those mobile telephones Uncle Vernon's been insisting he needs'_, Harry reckoned, before he shifted his attention to the stud. It sounded great: White's explanation fit with what he had felt, but still how could he be sure it didn't do any hidden things? '_Of course if he really wants me to wear the thing I'll probably wake up with it some morning._' Harry shivered at the thought of White manhandling him while he slept. '_I wish I could find the key to the lock on my room; there must be one._'

Harry turned the stud around in his hand. '_Maybe it can't be removed if someone else puts it on you either._' That though was even more unwelcome. '_I'd let White demonstrate,'_ Harry gleefully decided.

-o-O-o-

"Hi, sleepyhead, with us again?" Jason addressed him when he opened his eyes. "You missed a coconut vendor, someone who sold sunglasses, and the melon-man."

"Sunglasses," Harry repeated, blinking against the blinding sun.

"I figured you could use them," Jason said holding up a pair with huge lenses. "You need them matching your subscription, though, but these you can wear on top of your normal glasses for the time being."

They certainly looked big enough, which was the only redeeming feature about the hideous things. Harry shrugged and put them on; better looking like a clown than suffering eye damage.

He looked over the beach; it was pleasantly crowded with ordinary people. Normal, compared to those on the beaches closer to the marina they had initially arrived at. Harry had done the singing to the harbour pole bit to take him and Jason here. White had been called away on some emergency, so he was spending the day with Jason, who had let him choose how they would spent it. Not having rested well, he'd opted for a lazy day on the beach. White had instructed him on what to sing at the travelling pole to get to Monaco, some place at the Mediterranean Sea.

Upon seeing Harry's reaction to the place, which was filled with people showing of their Rolex watches and designer clothes, Jason had suggested they walk along the coastline to a quieter place. They'd stopped where the families of the people who manned the bars, restaurants, shops and nightclubs of the posh town where they'd landed went in their free time. After a refreshing dive and a game of beach-volleyball with some other boys, Harry had settled down on his towel and let himself doze off.

Harry yawned again.

"René has been keeping you busy?"

"Nightmare."

"Ah, you have those often?" Jason inquired.

Harry shrugged.

"Ever tried a dream catcher?" the man asked.

"A dream catcher? Isn't that some kind of spider web decoration from the American Indians?" Harry asked. He had once made one for Mother's Day when still in primary school. At the time, they had had an "Indians and Cowboys" theme going. Dudley's creation had been received with all the awe a child wishes for and had hung in the kitchen window for years. Harry had been ordered to throw his in the bin, which had been devastating for him at the time as he'd liked making it. He found Indians, as well as cowboys, to be fascinating. He had found all peoples who lived differently from the community of Little Whinging fascinating. He'd even tried to run off with a troupe of gypsies once, but Mrs. Figg had retrieved him.

"It's an invention of the Native Americans, yes," confirmed Jason. "Their medicine men, the magical people amongst them, used to make them. They are meant, as their name indicates, to catch dreams, which can then be used for later observation as a branch of divination. Or, if the dreams are troubling, the dreamer can simply to block them. There is a little more to the making of one - if you want a working one - than to the ones you'd find for sale in most places."

"There's some kind of magic involved?" Harry concluded hopefully. Like every summer, he missed regularly casting spells: the magical world always seemed more unreal the longer he spent away from it, and now he didn't even have his wand to touch as a reminder.

Jason winked and grinned before launching in an enthusiastic explanation. The technique turned out to be not much different from what his grade school teacher had once taught her class, with the exception that the web needed to be made with the dreamer's hair. His hair had been a little difficult to handle, but finally Harry had a tiny dream catcher hanging on a leather cord around his neck; Jason, who sported a Rastafarian look today, had given him one of his spare ones.

'_Between the home-made-pendant-on-a-leather-cord and the navel piercing, I am turning in quite the bad boy._' Harry snickered to himself.

Having finished the device and fastened it around his neck, Harry yawned again.

Jason laughed. "Go test it, then; I'll hold watch."

Harry installed himself, making the sand under his towel form to his body and let his eyelids drop, leaving Jason to his 'watch,' assured that no scarcely-clad lady would pass their spot without being thoroughly checked out.

-o-O-o-

Harry woke up to giggles. '_It seems Jason has managed to catch one of the passing birds._' The lady was standing a few metres away from their spot, where Jason had got her to halt her stroll and turn to him. Harry set to observe how he would draw her in. Chances were, he would someday find a use for what he would learn and from the impression he had gotten from Jason, he would be learning from an expert. It amazed him how the man could keep so relaxed, about everything really. '_Maybe it's because he doesn't take anything serious._'

Anyway, Harry felt more relaxed this afternoon in Jason's company than he had in a long time, longer than he cared to remember. He felt as if somehow someone had opened several windows in his head to let the fresh air and light in, driving out a gloom and stench he'd come so accustomed to he didn't even noticed them anymore. Harry valiantly joined the fun and tried flirt with the lady himself, owning an encouraging smile from Jason. The lady reacted very nicely, although Harry got the feeling she thought him cute more than anything else.

'_Oh well,_' Harry shrugged, '_it's a start_.'

-o-O-o-

Somehow, their chat had drifted to the manner in which White treated him, a topic that Harry felt he had a lot to complain about. Jason nodded his recognition of his friend's faults. He did have his own perspective on them, though.

"He was a cunning little cheek when he was young; the shenanigans he tells me he and his playmates got up to. Of course, at your age he had his parents believing he had grown into a responsible young man. Not by behaving, but by not getting caught for years. Anyway, he knows very well how a turn with the Hymarweddi feels; from his point of view, it's a normal disciplinary device. Well, normal for the more serious transgressions."

"I'm not _pranking_ him," Harry said, offended by being compared to some wayward child.

"No you're not," Jason agreed with him, "but René was raised in the tradition _'children should be seen, not heard,_' and _'respect your elders_,' and such tripe. You openly disobey him, or even only raise your voice against him, and he'll see it as an attack on his authority."

"He doesn't have any authority over me!"

Jason shrugged. "He feels he does, and your denying it will only serve to make him to want to assert it. Don't tire yourself out by fighting over trivialities; save your energy for what really matters. And make a good argument in a calm voice - chances are, he'll give in. Or, at least not punish you. Sneak around what he wants; he'll be milder if you're showing initiative, even if he considers it misdirected, than if you're just complaining. "

"Right," Harry said, sarcastically.

"Look at it this way: he needs to _think_ he's in control. That doesn't mean he really has to be. He'll give a lot of leeway as soon as you convince him you can be trusted to fall back in line the moment he crooks his finger."

Harry's disgusted expression told Jason just what Harry thought about that option.

"I am giving you his mode d'emploi as far as I have been able to figure it out. I am somewhat dependent on him you know, financially, but he doesn't order me around; I get to do what I want – mostly," Jason said. "What you do with what I tell you is up to you. But keep in mind, he trusts me all the way in the Caribbean and asks me advice on personal matters," He added.

Harry picked up on the last part. "Right, you tell him to bring me home, then."

"He asks for my advice I said. I don't command him." Jason snorted. "I believe the only one who'd gets away with that would be his mother, the cursed old hag."

-o-O-o-

Fawkes let out an indignant squawk as a reply when he finished his disclosure of his plans. Dumbledore had hoped to gain the mythical bird's understanding, knowing he would never gain her forgiveness for a thing like this.

"I know you disapprove, Fawkes. I am not happy with it either, but we must free Harry from this White. Especially if Severus's suspicions are correct and he is indeed a Death Eater. The chances that we locate them are nearly non-existent; Harry is most likely hidden under heavy wards, and even if he wasn't, my own wards prevent tracking, as long as White – whom they are keyed to now - resides at the same building as where Harry is kept." He sighed and started to stoke the phoenix, hoping it would bring some light to his heavy heart. "Harry will have to get away himself, which my wards, I am sorry to confess, prevent him from doing. They are one of my most intricate accomplishments, those wards, not something I like to see turned against me."

The bird turned its head away from him.

"I don't like what it'll cost the boy any more then you do, but desperate times call for desperate measures."

Once decided, even though Fawkes withheld her approval, Albus turned to practical thoughts. '_How do I convince Ollivander to hand over the boy's magical-measurements?_' The wand seller obtained those measurements to help him find the most appropriate wand for each of his customers. He also guarded the measurements like a dragon guarded her eggs; he would soon have no business left, if his customers no longer believed they could trust old Ollivander with them.

'_I will also need another way to protect the boy when we have him back, as the wards that had been depended on for so many years will no longer exist.'_

He was slightly side-tracked pondering that. '_I do not understand how the man could have convinced the Dursleys.'_ One of the spells woven into the wards prevented them from allowing Harry anything they did not believe to be solely beneficial for him. Those had turned out somewhat stricter than needed , since in the past, the Dursleys had included such things as school outings, swimming lessons, and candy as things they considered to dangerous for the boy. '_That White, as he calls himself, must have convinced them somehow that handing over Harry was just what the boy needed._' He hadn't thought them so gullible, especially Vernon: the man was a real shark when it came to his business.

'_Maybe this White was in good faith_,' Albus mused. While the younger ones in the Order might be horrified by the use of blood magic and the dark nature of the contract, he remembered a time where such a thing would be fodder for gossip, but would not elicit any serious debate.

'_A lot has changed, and for the better_,' Albus though with satisfaction. '_Still, if the man is from one of the continent's more difficult communities, he might be backwards enough to still place trust and importance on these outdated customs.' _

Albus almost abandoned his plans, briefly considering contacting the man and persuading him to relinquish his hold on the boy, or better yet, recruiting him into the Order. If the man could be convinced to join their side… it would not be a bad thing for him to have a short leash on Harry; the boy needed guidance and Albus had already battled a few headaches trying to get someone dependable close enough so that the boy would confide in them_. 'Who am I trying to fool?' _Albus interrupted his wishful thinking,_ 'This White subverted my wards to get at the Boy-Who-Lived – what other than the most nefarious reasons can he possibly have?' _There was no escape; he'd have to lower himself to use the kind of magic he'd spent all his life trying to help vanish into obscurity.

'_Oh, Harry I am so sorry to make you a murderer; it was exactly this that I had hoped to spare you from._' Albus sighed.

Fawkes let out a long, lamenting trill.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Thank you for brightening my day by dropping me a review. :-)


	19. Good Intentions part 2

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Good Intentions****  
**_**Part 2**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Chapter warning  
Sexual undertones

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Over the next few days, Harry settled into a rhythm of sleeping late, brunching while White settled business letters and calls, and spending the day on some outing or another. He had been amazed by waking up at 11 o'clock the first time ever. White had not commented on it other than a "You probably needed it." He was likely right about that, as Harry had not felt so well rested and cheery in a long, long time; he could now sleep without nightmares or visions. He even had the energy to spare for things that were just interesting, instead of only those that were important to his survival. While Harry did realise that, at some point, preparing himself to face Voldemort ought to take precedence above all other things again, for the time being he allowed himself a real vacation from everything. It was not like he could do anything useful, anyway.

He had spoken to Mr. Willkommen a few times, but the man had not yet been able to get much of a result. He had even asked Harry whether or not he was sure he had told him everything relevant. Unfortunately, Harry had not told the man everything; he had only told the man the parts that he could. It would just have to be enough. It did mean that it would take the man longer, which was fine, Harry told himself; there wasn't really much need to hurry, since White didn't seem to want to harm him.

Harry did feel slightly guilty about lying to Mr. Willkommen, especially since he was so kind and helpful, but, unfortunately, adhering to the Statute left him no choice.

'_That's one upside from having no friends in Little Whinging; no one asks me about my obscure Scottish boarding school_,' Harry thought, slightly bitter. He realised that, while he would not have liked growing apart from his childhood friends, he still would have preferred having them.

White still tended to favour educational trips, like the science museum in Copenhagen that they had visited yesterday. Even that had turned out to be fun, though, as it was filled with do-it-yourself experiments to illustrate the theoretical concepts.

Since White bought him anything he pointed at, Harry had hoarded a nice pile of presents for Hermione and Ron from their various trips. He'd even found something for Luna, something that looked like a mineral stone, brown with golden sparkles. It wasn't natural, though, but artificially made. He wondered where she would tell him it originated from.

They had broken in the chess set; White was good and Harry believed the man would actually stand a chance against Ron, but the man made playing with him fun by having them change colours every seven exchanges, pausing to inform Harry about the traps he had been setting up. Not that Harry could use the same plan then, for White would already know what to expect, but it helped tremendously in laying his own traps and spotting those White tried to set up early enough to mess them up. _'Ron is not going to know what hits him_.' It felt nice to actually win some of the games for once, too.

Harry had tried to sound White out about Jason. Since Jason had said he was dependant on White for money, there must be more to it then them just being friends. Not to mention information about White's business might help in figuring out why the man had abducted him.

According to White, they where distant cousins. Jason had started several studies but finished none, which, along with his provocative personality, made it impossible for him to find and keep regular employment. White gave him a monthly allowance so that Jason could more or less do what he liked, which involved assisting a psychology professor in field research and writing for an UFO-rag, as long as he performed odd jobs for White when the man requested them. He happened to be in Switzerland – apparently, they were not in France, as Harry had believed - for a psychology related gig, which turned out to be useful when White had been called on urgent business. Unfortunately, the man had stopped being informative when Harry tried to find out what business this had been.

He had only seen Jason sporadically, and tonight the man would leave for his home in America. Harry had half a thought of inviting himself along, but then the Order would never find him. Jason had insisted on taking leave in style; he had selected a club to spend the evening at. Looking around, Harry ginned; he should have known Jason would have a unique definition of _style_. The club was high class and White was paying, but the outfits of the waitresses were too revealing, the interior contained to much red, and the way the lady on stage was moving would have earned her a very harsh scolding, had Mrs. Weasley seen her. Well, it explained why White had to bribe the doorman into letting them in; this was an adult kind of club. It would make for a grand tale in the dorm, but at the moment, Harry felt mostly uncomfortable. White frowned at Jason; he didn't think this place was a good idea either.

"Just how far will the entertainment here go?" White inquired of Jason when the girl on the stage started to shed her garments, much to Harry's intrigued horror.

Harry tried to concentrate on his dinner, and not look at the lady prancing about on the stage in increasing state of undress. White was trying to distract him by making conversation; unfortunately, he was speaking a different form of the English language than Harry tonight, for he didn't recognise half the words. Jason divided his attention between the stripper and them, visibly amused by Harry's inability to follow White's sentences half the time.

"Wouldn't you want to know. But that just spoils the fun." Jason waggled his finger at White, where upon White looked pointedly at Harry's flustered face and then back to Jason again. In this case, Harry thought he was taking White's side over Jason's, not that he would ever tell either of them.

"Not all of us stole our mother's housekeeping money to purchase affection at age fourteen," White said.

"No, some lucky bastards could just let the madam put it on their fathers account," Jason growled as a return.

"At… at fourteen?" Harry stuttered.

White felt the need to explain himself. "My family does not believe in suspending one's pleasure until married. So, my father introduced us in his favourite brothel; soon after our sheets started to turn up sticky in the mornings."

At Harry's wide eyed expression he added, "Nothing much happened but kissing and fondling in these early visits. The ladies there were high class enough to know the difference between the art of pleasuring and having a go at it."

"Yes, dear cousin, you learned sex from the experts; same as everything else." Harry thought that Jason sounded a bit jealous when saying that, but he perked up quickly enough when he said, "Strangely_, I_ get more chicks."

"I have better things to do then score a new one-night stand twice every evening."

"I _so_ pity you," Jason said seriously. "Monsieur, mon ami a besoin de relâcher un peu de tension," Jason suddenly addressed a passing waiter, where upon the waiter addressed White. It was probably some kind of joke at White's expense, Harry decided seeing the man glancing rather annoyed at Jason.

"He is impossible to follow tonight; do you think he swallowed a dictionary?" Harry joked, addressing Jason while White dealt with whatever the waiter was offering him.

White seemed like he wanted to object, or, more likely, make some statement about Harry's lack of vocabulary. But he was in the middle of replying to the waiter: "Non, nous ne sommes absolument pas intéressés par une introduction avec une des femmes de cet établissement."

"I could give you something to top him with; supercalifragilisticexpialidocious," Jason laughed, pronouncing the tongue-tying word without any difficulty.

White frowned, interrupting his argument with the waiter for a moment, "That isn't a word."

"Ah, and you are trying to pass as a thirty-something year old Brit; you just got busted!" Jason taunted.

White glared, but it was rather half hearted.

"Mary Poppins," Jason hinted.

The waiter, who was still standing at their table waiting for White's next response, gave a discreet little cough.

"Alors un garçon, peut-être?" Jason said to the man before White could wave him away.

White turned crimson while shaking his head at the waiter, whom didn't even raise an eyebrow. Harry wished for the umpteenth time this week that he spoke a bit of French.

"You are displaying a distinctive lack of humour," White scorned Jason.

Harry was about to ask what the joke had been, but the thunderous look on White's face withheld him. Jason would leave tonight; he would be at a safe distance soon, so he could afford to vex him. Harry didn't have that luxury.

"Mary Poppins, a witch prosecuted for using magic while working as a nanny for a Muggle family at the beginning of the century. I dare say she knew how to speak properly," White resumed their conversation.

"Mary Poppins was for real?" Harry interrupted.

"Of course what did you think she was, a fairy?" White said, disgruntled.

"Actually, that is what the Muggles made out of the whole affair: a fairytale. They even made a movie out of it. I can scarcely believe you missed that one."

"I sneaked out to visit the cinema for Star Wars; that was risking my live and limbs enough," White answered.

Jason shrugged. "No one who knows you know could argue that it hasn't been worth it."

Jason was trying to get back into White's good graces, by diverting him with a joke and sucking up to him, Harry realised.

"I could name a few," White answered half seriously.

Jason jested, "You're not still hanging out with the wrong sort, are you?"

'_It seems Jason's tactic is working'_, Harry observed.

"He_ is_ sitting with us." Harry decided to join in the banter.

-o-O-o-

Later in the evening, when White had excused himself to go to the toilet, Jason slipped Harry a note with his phone number and address. "Feel free to call if you need an ear, or someone to talk some sense into René."

"Are you two wizards?" Harry blurted out to Jason. It was one of the few things that still plagued his mind, and Jason might actually answer him.

"It depends," Jason started. "I never sat NEWTs or such, if that is what you want to know. But I certainly live on the magical side of life, as does White."

"You're both squibs then?" pushed Harry, hoping for a clearer answer.

Jason sent him an astonished look. "Rene got you to believe he's a squib? Oh, that's a good one!"

"It is not obvious that he isn't," Harry defended himself. '_White is a wizard then; how come I haven't caught him doing any magic?'_

"Not obvious? With the way wizarding folk behave around him?"

"What wizarding folk? I haven't seen a single witch or wizard in this country," Harry countered.

Jason looked at him oddly, then said in a conspiring whisper, "Get him to visit the cathedral on the tower, and look in the direction of the lake; you'll see plenty. You'll look right into the Leman area shopping centre. "

Harry assumed that this _'Leman area'_ was the local equivalent to Diagon Alley; if they would be viewing it from above, it would become rather hard for White to deny its existence.

'_So White is a wizard. I still don't see how he could have gotten my OWL results so early._' Harry had gotten them himself only yesterday. Not by the means of a Ministry letter, though; Hedwig had brought a few pages of the English Daily Prophet, which included them. The owl must have found them somewhere on the street or something, for the paper had been rather ragged, as if it had been a play thing for the winds for some time. Still, Harry had been ecstatic about obtaining some news, even knowing the Prophet's feeble grip on reality. He had thanked Hedwig profusely and the bird had practically glowed with pride.

The news had not been good: there were several persons missing and some were found dead, gruesomely killed, mostly. Ollivander had disappeared and so had his whole shop. The article gave the impression that the premises where the wandmaker's shop had been located had vanished completely; however, Harry accounted that to an overzealous reporter.

The paper had included an overview of the OWL and NEWT scores of all those who had sat the exams. At least, those which were acceptable and above, which meant that astronomy, which exam had been disturbed by the attack on McGonagall was almost void of names from OWL-level Howarts Students. There were still quite a few people who had gotten the Astronomy OWL, but those were listed as home-students and Harry didn't recognise any of them. The rest of the results were as expected: Harry had the top score for Defence Against the Dark Arts, Hermione had done rather well in all her subjects, and Ron had passed most but had scored less overall, compared to Harry.

Of the Gryffindors, only Hermione would be welcome in Snape's NEWT classes. Harry had felt half-disappointed and half-relieved at learning this. He would not become an Auror; strangely, the worst thing about that was that he would have to come up with an alternative. Harry had no idea what that would be and was already dreading having to speak with McGonagall about it.

The worst item in the paper had been the one accompanying the exam-scores overview, wherein some reporter had singled out the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. The journalist had felicitated the Wizarding community with a protector who was excelling in Defence. Normally, Harry didn't mind being lauded for something he had actually done – catching the snitch, mostly - but somehow this article made him furious. He also felt immediately averse to all of the career options the article suggested for him.

"Too bad you don't like demons, Thomas." Jason let his voice grow louder as a returning White approached them. "Just because they're not so cuddly, a lot of people discriminate against them, preferring puffskeins and unicorns."

"Puffskeins are evil," White added when he sat down. "They bite."

Jason laughed. "All animals bite if you lift them by their hair."

"All toddlers lift animals by their hair," White defended himself.

'_Wizards,_' Harry concluded, certain of it after hearing that exchange. '_Only amongst Wizarding families do distant cousins know each other well enough to be informed about each others childhood sins.'_

Jason checked his watch. "Are you certain you don't want to come with me? I live in the Caribbean, fantastic climate."

"Jason." White's voice held a sharp warning.

Jason, of course, ignored him, winking to Harry. "I have a lot of books on magic, too. And nobody is tracking underage magical use over there."

'_That was a good invitation_.' Harry thought. '_Even if White has been indulging me the last few days, it doesn't have to last. And to practise magic and hold my wand again_...'

"The boy is a little young to practise invoking demons, Jason."

"Demons!" Harry exclaimed; he had believed Jason's earlier mention of them just a offhand remark, not something the man would seriously be involved in.

"Demonology, voodoo and mind-magic; my specialities," Jason informed him, proudly.

Harry was stunned out of words. '_Two out of three topics, not just a little dark, and I _liked_ him._'

"I take it you would rather stay with me?" White said triumphantly.

Harry nodded, not altogether convinced. '_If Jason gets up to such things, what the bloody hell are White's hobbies?'_

-o-O-o-

He had never been so happy to see Jason leave. The feeling of relief when this particular cousin left after a small visit was not unknown to René. The ocean between them was more a comfort than a hindrance; one of them would have surely died years ago if it hadn't been there to separate them. This visit had gone remarkably well, until this evening. Jason had managed, in the course of only a few hours, to ruin all the progress he had made with the boy. He'd had Harry been relaxing and starting to open up over the last couple of days, and during the course of the evening, Jason had revealed too many things which made the boy uncomfortable; it remained to be seen what damage he had done. Adding this to whatever Dumbledore was up to… unfortunately, those keeping an eye on the man for him had not been able to tell what the man was planning, save that he wished to set Harry against him. There were so many ways, magically, to accomplish such, and each would require a different defence, meaning that he could only hope to counter the effects of whatever spell Dumbledore choose before any irreversible damage was done.

'_Irresponsible clown_.' He sighed, taking note to discuss the management of the cacao bean plantations with Marius, for it was clear that Jason refused to grow up to take over from him, and the man ought to be have been allowed to enjoy a pension long before now.

-o-O-o-

That night, preparing for bed, Harry took a good look at the dream catcher again. It seemed to have worked as Jason had said it would – no more nightmares had plagued him – but Jason and White were not squibs, they were wizards, and Jason was, by his own confession, into dark things.

Harry hesitated. What if the dream catcher did do more than Jason had told him? Even if he had made it himself, Harry took it off to get a feel for it. He managed to get trough the exercise himself this time, even if he had still a lot of difficulty holding his concentration. The little web of hair gave of an empty, slippery feeling, not really pleasant. Uneasy, Harry decided to stop wearing the thing, but not to destroy it. He placed it somewhere in the bottom of his new trunk.

'_With a little luck the dreams will stay away now my mind has rested_,' Harry told himself, slipping under the covers.

Moments after his head hit the pillow, the door slid open.

'_So White has decided to shred their unstated agreement not to come into my room,_' Harry groaned, trying to shove his disappointment aside; he'd have to prepare to stand up for himself, which would go easier if he managed to become angry. '_I should have known the last days where to good to last_.'

Harry sat up to be less vulnerable to the intruder, who moved a few paces into the room, stepping into the pool of light filtering in from the suite through the open doorway.

"Sirius," Harry whispered, astonished when he recognised the figure walking in.

Had the situation not been so unreal, he would have flung himself from the bed into a crushing hug. As things were though, Harry could only sit and stare. Strangely, Sirius also passed on the jubilant rejoining routine. Instead, he walked to the bed eerily calmly and sat down on the edge, turning to face Harry.

"I am very disappointed in you, pup," Sirius greeted him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Translations of the French  
(because my beta made me take pity those of you who, like Harry, don't speak the language):

"_Monsieur, mon ami a besoin de relâcher un peu de tension,__"  
_"Sir, my friend needs some tension released."

"_Non, nous ne sommes absolument pas intéressés par une introduction avec une des femmes de cet établissement.  
_"No, we are definitely not interested in an introduction to any of the ladies of this establishment."

"_Alors un garçon, peut-être?"_  
"A boy, then, maybe?"


	20. Conflicting Influences part 1

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Conflicting Influences****  
**_**Part 1**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Harry felt awful. Sirius had apparated him straight into the veil chamber of the Department of Mysteries. Harry hated seeing the place again. How had Sirius come back from it, anyway? Had Remus been wrong about him being dead? Had they just abandoned him? No wonder he was disappointed. "We are not here for me Harry," Sirius had said, still being uncharacteristically cold towards him. His godfather had then taken out a huge time turner and gave it a generous spin, sweeping them into the future.

He saw White entering the room wearing a black cloak that billowed behind him when he walked. Following White was an older version of himself. They walked toward the arch that had once swallowed Sirius. '_Is Sirius trying to show me some way in which we could help him return?_' Harry thought hopefully.

Some uniformed ministry drones had entered the room. One of them casted a sonorous charm on his voice and announced, "All bow to our Lord Voldemort, Destroyer of Muggles, Beloved by Magic, High King, Purificator of our Blood, Son of the Morrigan.

To Harry's agonized astonishment, he didn't see his older self whip out his wand. Instead, his future self bowed deeply the moment the evil snake-faced wizard strode in, as did White. It was plain wrong; he would _never_ bow for Voldemort. And White bowing for anyone somehow didn't seem to fit the man, either.

Voldemort turned to him, a megalomaniac grin on his lipless face. "Potter, my dutiful servant, I am in need of some entertainment, and you will be an obedient subject and provide it," he stated, and Harry, to his horror, eagerly nodded his agreement.

Suddenly, he felt himself being lifted. Turning his head, he saw White was levitating him closer and closer to the veil. The last thing he heart before the veil muted it was Voldemort's maniacal laughter.

Beyond the veil was nothing, a huge amount of nothing. Harry kept falling into this void. Eventually, the shock of what had happened passed, but still he was falling. Nothing else happened; soon, Harry didn't even notice that he was falling anymore, since there was nothing to compare his position with, he might as well be going upwards or floating in place. Unfortunately, this got boring quite quickly.

Harry had assumed that if he would die, his parents would be waiting for him, since he had met them after the third task. But there was nobody...maybe he wasn't dead yet? He wondered what had happened to Ron and Hermione, to Ginny and the twins, the other Weasleys and the rest of the Order. If Voldemort had won the war, they could not be doing well. But how could he have remained with White if his friends where in danger? Harry couldn't imagine he would not have leapt to their rescue.

"How will you save our world when you won't even save yourself?" Sirius's voice whispered accusingly. The nothing surrounding Harry somehow echoed it, so he had to hear it over and over, the allegation assaulting him from every direction.

It even pecked at his ear.

'_Hedwig._' Harry rasped, opening his eyes. She had indeed flown into the room and hooted soothingly before quickly leaving again.

'_So much for hoping the nightmares would keep away_,' Harry thought sourly. This had been a new one, though, and he fervently hoped it would not return. It left Harry with an awful feeling of guilt. '_It can't really have been Sirius visiting from the beyond, like the Christmas ghosts of Scrooge, can it?_'

-o-o-o-

Compared to the night, the day had passed rather pleasantly; they had hiked thought the city, visiting diverse points of interest, amongst which had been the cathedral Jason had told Harry about. Harry had proposed climbing up to the belfry to enjoy the view. White was already all the way up when Harry arrived there. The last few days had given Harry great respect for the man's condition; while his own physical state could not be bad, given the distance Hogwarts students had to cover to get from class to class, when Harry had asked, White had insisted that he wasn't a sportsman and that Harry's condition would be just as good as soon as his body had gained the proper nutrients. This had made Harry think of vile tasting potions, but as it turned out the unidentified soda was doing that job already. It turned out to be an herbal concentrate preserved due to masses of sugar which was diluted with water – or soda-water when White made it – as this last was tastier and worked just as well.

Harry wasn't entirely happy White had been feeding him a potion without his knowledge, even if it was merely a Muggle remedy.

Having reached to top, Harry had almost fallen down the stairs. _'I'd swear that gargoyle moved!' _White had caught him and sent a angry glare at the gargoyle, which stuck it's tongue out to them. Harry had taken that as a hopeful sign in his quest to make contact with the local wizards and witches.

The roofs of the old city were nicer than the bare flat ones of the newer buildings; overall, the view over the surrounding city and the lake was worth the climb. Harry was nonetheless disappointed, however, since, apart from the Gargoyle which was still making faces at them, there was not a single flicker of magic in sight.

"Why are you looking so gloomy? Not as good as you expected?" White asked him, his slightly teasing tone giving away that he had known what Harry's aim had been when the youth had insisted they should climb up the tower.

"I've been had! And Jason had better be acting on his own," Harry growled back.

White studied him for awhile, while Harry pretended not to notice and tried to make out the other side of the lake, gloomily contemplating how easily Jason had tricked him. Not only had he lost someone he had come to think of as a friend, he was severely doubting the man had actually been a friend. He ought to have been trying to get home, Harry was realising.

'_Maybe the dream catcher has been distracting me from it._' He'd slept very well with it and he missed being well-rested, but he'd also forgotten how dire a situation he was in. He ought to be with the Order, preparing to fight Voldemort. The anger and shame he felt with himself caused him to fleetingly consider jumping of the tower to escape the feelings. Frowning to himself, he pushed those thoughts aside. '_Where did _that_ come from? I am not willing to die! Besides, killing myself wouldn't be very helpful – who would stop Voldemort then?_' Harry realized, feeling a heavy duty settling on his shoulders.

White cut off his gloomy thoughts, "Look, just behind the first row of slate covered rooftops." He was pointing, but Harry didn't see anything of interest but the cute old houses that he had noticed before.

Harry was sure he had not moved while he had been thinking, apart maybe from gripping the rail somewhat tighter, so White could have had no way to know what had been crossing his mind. Yet, the man had moved to stand close to him, close enough to grasp him if he had acted upon those silly thoughts before reconsidering. White now stood close enough for Harry to feel the heat radiating from the man's body. Strangely enough, having White standing so close to him did not bother Harry; if anything, he felt safer. The world made less sense each year and now even his own thoughts started to confuse him, like someone else was directing them. '_That's it. Voldemort would love it if I died falling of a tower. So much for Dumbledores hopes that Voldemort wouldn't dare to enter my mind again_.' Harry felt that this was very unfair; being sixteen was difficult enough without a dark lord trying to make you kill yourself. 'At least he is not trying to make me hurt other people.' Harry shuddered.

Standing next to White, Harry realised he could have someone to guide him through the confusion of puberty would he wanted it. Someone older, who had been through growing up before, unlike his schoolmates, whose exposure to the world grew alongside his own. _If_ he wanted it, White would provide for more than just his physical needs, something his family had refused to trouble themselves with. Sirius had offered the same, but however much he loved his godfather and had looked to him for advice, the need to hide from the Ministry had kept them too far apart. That, and Sirius's battle to gain back his live after loosing nearly half of it to Azkaban. And now White offered this; the question was, did Harry still want it?

"Look truly, not at what you expect to be there, but what really is. Allow yourself to be surprised."

Harry frowned at White. "There are rooftops."

"There is a lot more there than that. Remember the jumper," White hinted.

Harry had then tried the meditation technique White had taught him; he indeed felt something. Unfortunately, to actually see the fabled wizard district, Harry needed to open his eyes. Then, he had been quite disappointed to see the city still looked the same, and he started to believe he had been imagining things.

White tried to explain that the trick was to be open to the unexpected so that one could to see what was really there instead of what one was expecting to see. Apparently, one needed to retain the sense of wonder one felt as a small child to look past the Muggle-repellent wards. Muggles quickly lost the ability to see what they didn't expect when growing up and Muggle-repellent wards made use of that. White's explanation was rather vague, especially because Harry had been expecting to see the district he had been feeling. Frustratingly, even with White pointing him where to look - " _Just behind the middle-age style houses in the street right after the one directly down from us"_ - the district remained unyieldingly invisible for Harry.

Apparently, his failure to see past the wards caused White to become frustrated, too, illustrated by the man's rant about "_Low educational standards that alienate us from our magic," _and concluding that,_ "We might as well go join the Muggles and forget who we once were." _

During White's rant Harry had politely agreed with everything the man said, hoping that this would help convince White to take him to visit the illusive Leman Wizarding shopping area. The tactic had some success, as White promised to see if he could arrange something. Harry would have preferred to have been taken there directly, but he figured that White wanted to arrange for some sort of disguise. This was sensible, considering Harry didn't want Voldemort to catch on that he was out and about unprotected.

-o-o-o-

"… and Albus keeps his cards as close to himself as he can on this matter. So, unfortunately, there is no news about what magic he has used on the boy, only that he has done something and expects to see the effects before the new moon," she finished.

René mulled over the facts the young lady had reported for a few moments, making sure not to move the locket that held her painting too much; otherwise, her view out of it would surge too much and she claimed that it made her feel sea sick.

"Sometime in the next week or so then," René concluded.

"You take care that you don't get hurt in the process," she admonished him.

"I will, but Harry can't do magic at the moment; that should restrict any harm he could cause."

She huffed. "Neither can you, while you are inside."

"That is not entirely true," he smiled, playing with the tear shaped pendant on his other necklace.

"Only in this room, you can!" She didn't seem to catch his hint, or maybe she couldn't see very well into the world outside from her portrait; her portrait was very small, even though the artist had managed to get in a lot of detail. Her eyes might no longer be as sharp as they had been in real life. "Speaking of those awful wards, they make me feel sick. Abolish them," she commanded, making him smile. '_Her manner of ordering people around has been captured perfectly, though.'_

"Where, now, is your concern for my well being?" he teased her.

"Right next to your concern about mine!" she countered, sounding somewhat frustrated.

René observed her a bit closer; she looked quite pale. "You seemed to have lost some colour."

"Oh, you see, the magic is leaking out of me!" She panicked. "You will not expose me to those magic-draining abominations again!"

He tried to reason with her, "Those crystals only suppress a wizard's ability to call his magic forward; they don't quell what is already there."

"New-fashioned, untried contraptions; it is by no means certain they function precisely as you expect them to," she huffed. "You should keep yourself to the tried and true. Use others to test potentially dangerous inventions on."

"You hardly spent time in this portrait anyway," he countered, focussing on her original worry.

"Only because I need to keep an eye on things at home, lest those barbarians ruin the place further. I don't like that portrait, though; I look absolutely hideous in it," she whined.

"I'll leave you in this room if you wish," he promised her, wisely refraining from going into the subjects of 'home' and her portrait there. "But don't you want to keep up with the news?"

"Not at the price of my complexion," she insisted.

René shook his head; if he hadn't me this little portrait, he would never have guessed that she had been such a vain young lady. It would be strange not reading the paper for her in the morning. Not to mention he dreaded the amount of explanation she would insist upon when they would resume their custom.

"As you wish, see you tomorrow," he bade her farewell, before closing the locked and removing its chain from his neck.

At least she had refrained from flirting this time. He didn't believe he would ever get used to that, and had often wondered whether she had really be so open and frivolous at sixteen or whether, being a portrait, she had decided she could afford a little freedom from the strict formality she had lived under. If the portrait was true to her sixteen year old self, though, then what misfortune could have changed such a strong and wilful woman? He had often wondered about it, especially since Rosa was a lot like her; she would be quite the little heart-breaker in a few years. '_I hope life treats her more kindly; the family has had more than our share of misfortune in these last generations.'_

He hadn't needed her warning, as he had already been on the lookout for any of Dumbledore's magic affecting the boy. He hadn't yet seen any indication that it had; however, he had already put some precautions in place. Now that Harry knew he was a wizard, there was no longer any reason to hold back on the magic.

He stretched before setting out to join Harry at breakfast. Today, they would visit an old friend and his family, an appointment that had been settled since the spring. They would be going on a trip, for one couldn't keep children confined to a house the whole day with the amount of energy they needed to spend, not without inviting wickedness and mayhem. And Katrijn's boys were as talented in that regard as any other child. Even tough they where a lot younger, he hoped their company would do Harry well, since he seemed to be missing his friends.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o


	21. Conflicting Influences part 2

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Conflicting Influences****  
**_**Part 2**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The rollercoaster 'Roc,' slowly climbed higher; the drop should be any moment now. It was their fifth ride in a row. Harry loved the loss of coordination, losing himself in the darkness speared with light beams; that was the main feature of the attraction. It gave him the feeling that he didn't know up from down, only speed and pressure. It was like riding a broom on a night without a moon, without control. But also without any danger of crashing.

This morning, White had taken him to Holland, arriving at yet another big lake, to be picked up by yet another vintage car – with chauffeur, naturally. First they had picked up a family, the Klaassens, and then they drove on to this fairytale themed park.

Mr. Klaassen had been introduced as an long time friend of White. According to Harry, Jan Klaassen was just as unlikely a friend of White as Jason was. Where White was a stuck up snob – in Harry's opinion; White himself would call it well bred and proper mannered – Jason was over the top on everything and an archetypal playboy and Klaassen seemed a proper family man. He had a relaxed but still firm way of dealing with his two boys, about ten and eight years old in Harry's estimation. Mr. Klaassen was a sort of cross between Mr. Weasley and Professor Lupin. He seemed to have quite some influence on White, though, like when he had insisted that White slip into something more casual when they had come to the Klaassen's house, for White had changed into acid-washed black _jeans_ and an old long-sleeved _tour shirt_ from a rock band called Fish.

A big part of the part of the park was made up of a forest, in which moving displays illustrated all kinds of fairytale stories. It was absolutely awesome - for five year olds. The haunted castle in the middle of the forest had even been hilarious. He and the older boy, who spoke a bit of English, had had great fun guessing what would happen next and how things were done behind the scenes, although Harry thought the boy was cheating and had ben to the park before. The younger boy had kept close to his mother, pretending he wasn't scared. The boy would probably dream of dancing skeletons tonight, and Harry would gladly take the dream from him. Last night, his dream had started out with a cosy Weasley family dinner; even Percy had been there. Unfortunately, his dream self had then slipped out of the house, and, after locking the family in, he had joined a cabal of Death Eaters waiting for him outside. They had then set fire to the Burrow and had laughed at the sounds of panic when the Weasleys had realised their situation. He could still hear Ginny's screams, for her Harry to come and save her.

The rest of the park had been more to Harry's liking: it was still fairytale-themed, but the attractions were wilder. The rollercoaster, which was supposed to mimic the flight of a mystic bird, was simply awesome. White had surprised him by sharing his enthusiasm over the rollercoaster, albeit in a more restrained way.

'_Now __this__ is a proper summer holiday!'_ Harry thought.

Harry felt fabulously spoiled, as if all of his missed birthday outings were delivered in one go. Even the educational trips were fun. Two days ago, they had visited a science museum in Copenhagen. Instead of dull displays, it was filled with do-it-yourself experiments. The day had gone by so fast that Harry had not noticed it passing until the personnel of the museum had asked them to leave at closing time. He had asked to go back the next day and had raided the museum shop; Hermione should be pleased. Half of the things he had White buy for him were meant as presents for her, anyway. He had been expecting the man to say it was enough with each item he piled into his shopping basket, but the awaited protest never came. '_As long as he doesn't think he can buy my good behaviour with presents; anyone who has met Dudley should know that that tactic is futile.'_

-o-O-o-

"What did that bitch want?" Ted asked when he walked into their living room, having hid in the garden shed until said 'bitch' had left.

"That bitch happens to be my sister," Andromeda responded, sounding a bit irritated.

Ted felt a bit irritated with his wife himself. "A sister. Who moonlights as a terrorist and would kill our daughter should they cross paths."

Andro sighed. "My _sister_ wanted to know why our grandfather had installed me as Wizengamot representative and under what conditions."

Ted frowned; that was a very dangerous line of enquiry.

Andro continued, "I told her to go and ask him."

"She'll have to wait till Halloween then," Ted concluded, not altogether happy about Andromeda's stalling tactic. '_The pythias of Delphi predict which sister dear old grandpa will decide to favour this time.'_

"… and practicing some patience will do her well," Andro finished.

Ted snorted, believing it was far too late for that _witch _his wife insisted on calling 'sister' to build anything resembling character. The Queen of Drama 'Auntie' Walburga was a perfect lady compared to that one.

"She wouldn't go against family. Not as far as to kill them."

"Like she'd consider our little Nymph to be family."

Andromeda seemed to think so, though, stating that their daughter was her sister's niece.

"She's also a 'mudblood's' offspring, darling. I'd say that'll overrule any sisterly sentiments she might still feel towards you," Ted responded, very much doubting the existence of any remaining sisterly feelings.

"You're family, too, my dear. Since you did not belong to any Wizarding family when we married, you automatically married into mine," Andromeda explained, repeating an adage she has maintained throughout their marriage.

As always, it triggered Ted's funny bone. "A 'Mudblood' Black," he sniggered.

"They might not have liked my choice, at first, but they didn't stay angry."

"They threw you out of the family; burnt you of their carpet." Ted re-iterated their long-standing argument, not really believing these facts would come across this time.

And indeed his wife shrugged it off. "So Aunt Walburga damaged some furniture during one of her theatrical fits. That doesn't mean a thing."

"You ignored their wishes. They are known for centuries for not taking that sportingly. Not from one they believed to be their own. How many expelled Blacks from the generations before you have not been lost in obscurity? Shouldn't there be a few none-pure branches of the family," he argued, knowing full well all earlier misfits had disappeared.

"Oh, nonsense. Who truly knows how a family works but the family itself?"

Ted left it there, since he knew it was an argument he'd never win. Even though, upon their engagement, the Blacks had completely exiled her from their circle. They had even made it impossible for either of them to find employment, until Andromeda had somehow managed to blackmail someone at the Daily Prophet. Still, Andro had never wanted to believe she'd been truly cast away by them. And when Pollux Black had come to her when he'd needed her to solve his problems, it had cemented her beliefs about still being considered one of them.

It wasn't something he could easily waylay, either. Since he didn't know the intricacies of the Black family dynamics, Andro could have reason to support her belief, although he doubled it was anything substantial. After all these years spent as a wizard, Ted Tonks still had trouble with the concept of each family having its own laws. There were community laws, of course, but those didn't count for everyone; many families had absolution from them grandfathered in. This was a constant headache when doing business, so magic folk tended not to trust on paperwork, but on magic to bind their business partners to the deals made. Unfortunately for the less shrewd or the under-informed, this way of doing business held a huge risk of being taken advantage of, and no court ruling could stand against magic. So, quite literally, what you didn't know could kill you. Or put you into lifelong servitude, or even make you lose your standing as a human being. It was the single thing about the Wizarding world Ted hated most, more than deadly or debilitating curses, pureblood snobbism, or even Death Eaters. Yet, it was so ingrained into their way of life that to change it would rip the base out from under their community. Still, it had certainly not been covered in the '_You are a Wizard, welcome in the wonderful world of magic'_ pamphlet that had been the highlight of his eleventh birthday.

"How was the match?" Andromeda asked when their conversation fell silent.

"Oh, splendid, the Holyhead Harpies had quite some trouble against the Cannons," Ted said, glad for a safe topic.

"But the Cannons ate dirt in the end," concluded Andro with a half-smile. Their daughter had always rooted for the all-ladies team, encouraged by the woman-power beliefs of his mother. It had become a returning contest between him and his little girl. She would favour the Harpies; he would root for the opposing team. Since he hadn't grown up in the Wizarding world, he had no prior sentiment towards any of the teams, anyway. The Harpies were on a roll this season, so Nymphadora would probably be winning their little game this year. Still a pity his nymph was too clumsy to fly well. Andromeda would have complained about _her _daughter exposing herself in a revealing Quidditch uniform, but it would have been far less dangerous than profession his little girl had chosen.

"You should come with us next time," Ted invited his wife.

"And interfere with a Father-Daughter moment? Oh, I should not."

Ted's face fell; something in that remark had revived his fear that such moments might be counted.

"Isn't she well?" Andromeda asked with motherly concern.

"Heartbroken."

"She should not let the tomfoolery of some male interfere with her life; I thought her better than that," Andro said.

"It is the uncertain times that lie ahead; makes people seek the comfort of loved ones. Makes them clutch to a partner," Ted said, his mind going back to the time when he and Andromeda became an item.

His wife seemed to have missed the parallels to their own history, or maybe she was ignoring it on purpose. She was so good ignoring what she considered distractions it could be scary at times. She huffed. "I told you she would be in danger. You could have supported me, when I tried to divert her from this foolishness of becoming an auror."

"It's not because she is an auror; she's a level-headed capable girl and it is a good job," Ted defended his daughter's choice. "It's this war that's brewing."

"Civil unrest has been coming for a long time, Ted," Andro said, switching to her lecturing voice.

"Are you going to claim now that you knew all along that You-Know-Who wasn't really dead?" Ted asked, astonished. He'd heard enough people gossiping at bars and while shopping in the Alley or Hogsmeade who claimed this. But he would never have thought his Andro to partake in such silliness.

"The Dark Mark never really vanishing was an inescapable clue that he was hanging on. But, no, I didn't expect him to actually find a way back. All of his followers who might have been foolish enough to help him reclaim a place among the living were safely tucked away in Azkaban."

"You helped to get Sirius and Bellatrix imprisoned?" Ted blurted out, having a sudden brainwave since the subject of her cousin's and sister's imprisonment had always been taboo around her, while Lucius's and Regulus's involvement with You-Know-Who had only been treated as slightly embarrassing.

'_It would seem so'_, he concluded, since she completely ignored his question.

"If You-Know-Who had not managed to return, another idiot would have set himself up as a rally point for unsatisfied youngsters and established tugs."

Ted frowned; war was anything but scarce in the Wizarding world. "It seems there will always be those who, after getting a taste of power through magic, come to hunger for more."

At his wife's nonplussed gaze, he added, "Like Gaunt, or Grindelwald."

"The Grindelwald War wasn't a war, really, it was a coalition in arms to defend ourselves against Muggles who were set on destroying our very planet and everything on it," Andromeda spouted the propaganda invented by those who wished to excuse the Wizarding involvement in the second world. Ted had been astonished to learn that a lot of the most militant anti-Muggle purebloods were acting primarily out of fear of the Muggles they professed to look down upon. He supposed this illustrated that fear of the unknown was just a part of human nature. Ted secretly supported Dumbledore's efforts to spread knowledge and understanding of Muggles among wizards and witches – secretly, though, as he knew Andro did not share his sentiments.

Still, he couldn't leave her repeating that nonsense without offering even a token challenge. "It _is_ called a _war_, sweetheart. Surely there is a _reason_ it is called such."

"Of course," Andromeda said nonchalantly. "It ended badly, widening the chasm between the divisions within our community. Sowing the seeds of discord, from which Voldemort then harvested in his campaign for personal glory. Witches and wizards have not known war in centuries, apart from the occasional family vendetta."

Ted disagreed. "Things flare up, every now and then in Italy. And both the eastern half of Europe and large parts of Asia have seen multiple skirmishes during the last century."

"Italy maintains a balance between the Catholic Orders and the mafia families. Both pay the statute of secrecy lip service only. As for the rest of the unrest you mention, that's all due to the influence of the Soviets," Andro lectured. "Another example of trouble originating from Muggles," she added.

Ted wasn't surprised at this answer; he knew his wife's aversion to non-magical people very well. Luckily, she was too well-mannered to ever let it show to his family. However, in all the years of their marriage, he had yet to see her relaxed in their company.

And indeed, as if she had heart his thoughts, Andromeda said, "Nothing against your family, dear. But Muggles are just like wizards and witches; they are afraid of everything they don't understand. And in crowds, they are easily persuaded to lash out against it."

"Just like witches and wizards, as you say," Ted grinned.

"There are a lot more of them," Andro protested. "And their history is riddled with them fighting against their own kind, unlike the history of magical humans."

That was a new one for Ted. History of magic had covered a lot of wars, uprisings and rebellions, but he realised now those had always been humans against other races, never amongst themselves. "No wonder no one knew how to deal with the Death Eater movement. But, now it happens again; you'd think too many people remember the devastation of You-Know-Who's first rise."

Andro shook her head. "It was never properly resolved. And You-Know-Who's timing now is even better, with Flamel having died."

"What does the death of that hermit alchemist have to do with… oh, never mind," Ted said throwing in the towel. "You're the political analyst. I am just a simple housewife."

"Your help is invaluable to me, dearest," his wife said, as she settled on his lap and started kissing his earlobe.

"I know you appreciate me, dear. But I still would prefer to have a real job," Ted sighed, before giving in to his wife's ministrations.

-o-O-o-

"What are your plans with the teenager?" Jan asked, speaking Dutch, which he knew René could follow well enough as long as it was pronounced clearly and not spoken too fast. And avoiding Harry's name, to prevent him from knowing they were discussing him.

"I haven't formed any," René answered.

Jan frowned. "You don't want to tell me, you mean. Should I be worried for the boy?"

"Honestly, I think the child needs someone to look after him, that's all," René defended himself, irked that Jan would believe he would endanger Harry.

Jan mulled that over; he knew René could act quite impulsively at times and his best decisions were made thus. Certainly, his friend had messed up more when he tried to conform to the expectations of others than he did when acting out of instinct. "He's hardly a child anymore. I daresay he's capable of holding up on his own," Jan finally answered.

"At sixteen? You know the things I got up to at that age."

"You did your best in difficult circumstances," Jan excused him.

White snorted. "That will hold up well in court."

"They would need to catch you first. A thing not even your parents ever managed," Jan countered.

René instantly turned gloomy. "That was simply because I used to set up my brother to take the fall."

"You used to say that he took it upon himself to protect his ickle little brother."

René shrugged. "He used to, when we were little; later, I abused his kindness toward me by using the reputation he had gotten against him. After a certain point my parents automatically assumed he was behind it whenever something untoward happened. Even if he could relay evidence that it had been me, it would only get him into more trouble."

"And you are blaming yourself now," Jan concluded.

"Royally late," Rene chastised himself.

"It's a normal dynamic between brothers growing up." Indicating the two children, Jan said, "I have two boys around every day. The oldest won't allow anyone to hurt his brother, because that is his mandate. The youngest will mimic everything the older does, frequently going beyond the point of merely annoying. And he'll do it better, too; using what coaching the older wishes to give and avoiding the mistakes he has him seen making. They fight several times a week, whishing deadly illnesses and horrible deaths to each other, with great eloquence. In time they'll grow out of it and laugh at the then-dear childhood memories together."

"They might," Rene said, looking wistfully at the two children, who had taken to trying to get their mother to buy them another ice cream.

"You would have forgiven each other, too."

"I will never know, now will I?"

"Well, at least you are behaving yourself now, aren't you?" Jan tried to lighten up the mood somewhat.

When René averted his eyes, he continued, "You aren't into anything nasty now, are you?"

Rene laughed, a hint of turmoil in it. "I am staying within the law, well, mostly; that doesn't mean I am being a good boy, Jan."

"Mostly," parroted Jan. "Well, I suppose that's the best to hope for. Regularly breaking Muggle laws to be able protect their own interest gives magic folk a frightening disregard for legislation." He sighed.

"The state of legislation of most Wizarding states doesn't help a lot either," White added.

"The Muggle ones are hardly better. But people need some moral compass to sail to."

Rene shook his head. "Laws are not the place to look for morals."

"Don't tell me you set your own morals?"

"Everyone should," Rene said vehemently. "To let someone else set them for you in some code of conduct and then point to the parchment whenever someone challenges you is as bad as claiming '_the devil made me do it'_."

"A case might be made for the devil having influenced your morals before," Jan ventured tentatively.

"I did my best in difficult circumstances." Rene threw Jan's earlier words back at him.

At Jan's disapproving glance, he allowed, "I do spend at least two weeks every year in quiet retreat, refreshing my system, so to speak."

"Every year, when?" Jan pushed.

"Start of summer."

Jan gave him a severe stare. "You mean around this time?"

"I can skip a year," René said, a little bit snappily.

Jan looked unconvinced. "I sure hope so, otherwise the boy _would _be better off taking care of himself."

-o-O-o-

I would love to hear what you think about my take on Tonks' parents….


	22. Conflicting Influences part 3

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Conflicting Influences****  
**_**Part 3**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

That evening, the Klaassens held a barbeque in their back garden, which was rather big since the family lived in an old farm house. The farm, Jan had told Harry, had been his father's, but they had sold off the land years ago. He now owned a shop in the nearby city. At Harry's polite interest, Jan had whisked him through the Floo into the shop, treating Harry to a quick tour. Jan was obviously proud of his business. To Harry's shock, the man was selling magical remedies to Muggles, simple things that didn't need any innate magic to work, but still! Jan, seeing his reaction, had quickly reassured to him that all his goods were real. He might be a trader, but he, he assured Harry, was a fair one. He didn't sell any plain-white salve, claiming it would work miracles, or use charms to trick his customers into wrongly believing it worked. Nor did his any of his products have any magic on them to induce his customers to buy more of it.

'_Which means that there are people who _do_ do things like that_,' Harry commented to himself. Walking past the shelves, Harry recognized the brand of soap they had at the hotel. What really captured his attention, though, was a brand that sported a badger. The brand was very colourful, each item had his own scheme, but the badger itself was almost an exact copy of the mascot of Hufflepuff house.

"Our house brand," Jan told Harry proudly when he saw what had captured Harry's interest.

"You went to Hogwarts," Harry stated.

Jan shrugged. "Well, Durmstrang doesn't take Muggleborns."

Harry nodded. "Why didn't you stay in Britain?" he wondered.

"I finished during You-Know-Who's first rise. I didn't even dare to visit Hogsmeade during my last few years. Besides, this is my home."

Part of Harry was angry at yet someone else who had run away instead of standing up against Voldemort; still, he could not really blame Jan for going back to his own country and leaving Britain's problems to Britain. On the other hand, who knew what Voldemort's plans were after he had conquered Britain? The snake was probably planning to rule the world.

At the farmhouse, White and the boys had been setting up the fire. When Jan and Harry returned, both men sat down by themselves to chat - in Dutch again, making Harry suspicious that they were talking about him – leaving the boys to tend the fire.

Harry went to seek out Mrs. Katrijn in the kitchen. He could easily imagine she could use a hand preparing the food for the barbeque and it gave Harry the opportunity to talk to her privately.

Harry didn't think it was a good idea to approach Mr. Klaassen with his being-abducted-and-wanting-to-go-home problem; he and White acted like long-lost friends. Which, considering the glances Harry had seen White sneaking at Mrs. Klaassen during the day, might be a bit complacent on Mr. Klaassen's part. Harry would put good money on White being in love with the woman, and he wasn't even very good at spotting those things.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be some bad blood between the self-regulating magical community of the Netherlands and the British Wizarding community, for Mrs. Klaassen refused to help him contact them. '_Then again, maybe it is just something personal. She might, for instance, have met Umbridge at some point_.' The Dutch had no Ministry of Magic, White had told Harry while briefing him during the drive to the Klaassens' farmhouse, and, of course, the overall social situation in the country they were visiting had been much more important than sharing some titbits on the family they were about to meet. Still, the idea of a Wizarding community without a ministry was fascinating. From Harry's experience with the British Ministry of Magic, Harry thought self-government might not be ideal, but it couldn't possibly be worse than having an official government Fudging it up for you.

Despite being unwilling to contact anyone in Britain, the woman wasn't deaf to Harry's plight. She only seemed to want to help with a little advice, though. '_First Jason and now her!_' Harry groaned. And, strictly speaking, the hotel manager hadn't accomplished anything other than telling him what to do, either.

'_They either tell you not to worry and mess it up or they tell you how to mess it up yourself; Adults are useless_,' Harry concluded angrily.

"You keep your own judgement, Tom," Mrs. Katrijn said. "I know René has a very strong will, but you must allow him to direct your life."

"Like I have a choice in it," Harry responded, disgruntled.

"Oh, he'll tell you to eat healthy and go to bed on time and to concentrate on your studies. That's all very well, you children need that." Harry rolled his eyes; all parents everywhere were the same. "You must not let him choose your career for you, or allow him to tell you whom to marry, such things."

Harry dropped the knife he was working with. "Whom to marry!"

"Well, I hope he learned people should follow their heart, but I wouldn't count on it. He's not one to easily admit to being wrong. Not when he wants to believe in something." She sighed and continued, "But he will certainly try to direct your career choices, probably in some direction to be useful to him years from now."

Harry had not thought about any long term consequences of this abduction; could it be so simple? Would White go to all this trouble just to have some connection with him in the future?

'_Well, they all expect me to off Voldemort for them. Probably White believes I'll become powerful after the war. That they offer me the chance to be Minister of Magic or something, like they did Dumbledore after he defeated Grindelwald_.' Harry shuddered, sympathizing with his headmaster, who kept turning the position down even if it meant having such fools like Fudge in power. Well, White would be disappointed, then; Harry had every intention of doing what he wanted, if he lived.

"I want to be an Auror, but I am not going to be a corrupt one," Harry answered trying to imagine how his choice of job could be useful to a man like White. '_There is something fishy about the man. And where does all his money come from?_'

"An Auror? That's an honourable job, indeed. But not one René would support. Don't let him talk you out of it, if it is what you really want for yourself."

"Why wouldn't he support it?" Harry asked. '_Wouldn't knowing someone in the DMLE be helpful to him?_'

"Because of the silly patron system you folk have, naturally," she answered, attacking the meat she was preparing for the barbeque with renewed fervour.

"Patron system?"

Harry was sure he had never heard such a thing mentioned before. Katrijn had quite a lot to say about it, though, as she seemed to see his ignorance about the matter as an invitation to push her own opinion. Which she did, speaking rather fast and in a convoluted manner.

"Yes, well, in my opinion, warlord would be a better term, but that doesn't sound so nice, does it? But the way they go about it. And do not let his naughty boy smile fool you, René is quite capable of getting his way. And don't let your headmaster decide for you either. He isn't really a school teacher, as the head of a Muggle school would be. That school is the only one in the whole of Britain and Ireland; being its headmaster is a position with political clout. It being one of his many political functions, he'll use it to advance his own agenda, just like he uses the power any of his other positions give him. He would try to get his students to do what is useful to him. Even if he does let them believe it was their own idea and dearest wish."

Harry was meeting a lot of people who didn't like Dumbledore lately. _'Maybe White has told her what to say, but she doesn't seem to agree with him, either.'_ Harry tried to make sense of her explanation but failed to see the connection between warlords and his choice of career. Sure, Dumbledore was fighting a war and Voldemort made his followers address him as Lord, but that didn't add up to being a 'system.'

Harry fished for more information. "Mr. White doesn't like Dumbledore."

Katrijn shrugged. "It is often easier to find someone else to blame than to face your own mistakes."

That remark deadened their conversation and Harry continued slicing the cucumber in silence.

To get away from the awkward silence, Harry took it upon himself to walk between the garden and the kitchen to carry the food outside.

Outside, the men and boys sat tending the fire so that it would die down to glowing coals fit to roast upon. They didn't really need to do a lot, but all four seemed to enjoy playing with the fire. The atmosphere around them was very cosy and inviting, and Harry was sorely tempted to leave Mrs. Klaassen brooding over whatever anger she held against wizards on her own.

He didn't join the men, however: bringing the food gave him the opportunity to sneak into Mr. Klaassens brewing workshop, which was in the former barn next to the house. Unlike when he wandered around Hogwarts after curfew or stole snacks from his aunt's stores, he felt tremendously guilty for his current actions. His rule-breaking at Hogwarts hurt no one – well, apart from Snape, perhaps, that one time when they had stolen ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion. And he would not have needed to take food from the Dursleys if they had given him enough to live on in the first place. But the Klaassens were a nice family and the workshop was their their livelihood?.

However, he only needed a little bit; Mr. Klaassen would never miss it, Harry convinced himself while filling a small flask from a larger bottle. He would have preferred just to ask, but while Mr. Klaassen would probably not have been unwilling to give him some, he would have wanted to know what Harry wanted it for and Harry could not possibly tell him of the use he had in mind. '_I am not really going to use it. It is just so I have it on hand, just in case it turns out I do need it.'_

Harry slipped the flask in his trouser pocket, hurrying on to the kitchen again, glad to put it out of his mind. Instead, he let his thoughts focus on the old paper he had hidden under his shirt; it wasn't the Daily Prophet, but some of the advertisements moved, so it had to be a Wizarding journal. He had no time to look at it now, but he would find some later.

"Jan is Muggleborn," Katrijn said when Harry next entered the kitchen.

"Yes, he mentioned that," answered Harry, thinking, '_If White's friends with a Muggleborn, he can hardly be a Death Eater_.'

But then he remembered his dreams had been of the future. White might well decide to join the Death Eaters, if he disliked the alternative. '_He's probably telling himself it is a British problem and it doesn't affect him to him.'_

"I have heard that some people believe Muggleborns should be taken into a Wizarding foster family as soon as they are found."

Harry had not heard that one yet; personally, he would have loved to be removed from the Dursleys, but overall it seemed cruel to separate children from their families.

"I sometimes think the idea has merit. I would not have Jan with me, of course," Katrijn mused, "but for people not raised in the Wizarding world, it is so impenetrable and strange."

"It isn't too bad. You learn all about magic at school. I was afraid I'd be behind and really stupid compared to the rest of the first years when I first came, but it wasn't like the lessons were too difficult, really," Harry said, remembering how he had felt first going to Hogwarts. '_Of course, it would be a bit different for the Muggle wife of a Muggleborn. She would be mostly living outside it all_.'

"You are Muggleborn, too." It sounded like a conclusion, not a question, and Harry decided not to correct her. There weren't many people who were wizard-born and Muggle-raised; it would make it too easy to guess who he really was if he explained her.

"Oh, I think it is a good idea they separated," She went on, "Not because of magical ability itself. But because of how they let it influence them. Magic pushes aside everything. Law bends around it, morality bows to it. You, having grown up Muggle, must have felt a foreigner in their society, too, once the novelty of magic itself wore of. It's hardly imaginable just what magic allows those who have no scruples. Or, as René would put it, a different set of ethics. It scares me, to be honest. If René hadn't befriended Jan, I dare not think what would have become of him. My, such a thing as an unbreakable vow! Boys would dare each other whether they are Muggle or wizard. But with magic, they might very well die if they try to back out. And with magic, they can easily be coerced to lapse their common sense and enter such an agreement, as if normal peer pressure is not hard enough to withstand at school age!"

"If a court does something about it, it's just to make the barest of amends; that is, if the perpetrator doesn't get let off with only a slap on the wrist…" She shook her head, as if unable to believe her own words. "Whatever would be just and proper cannot be enforced, for the magic cannot be reversed. The wizard-borns know this; it is natural for them. Many of those people believe that the naïve, less intelligent, or young and unprotected are there to be taken advantage of by those with more knowledge or power. I pray every night that both my boys are normal, and I am not ashamed to admit it!"

Harry had found her pleasant enough to be around until she had voiced sentiments so much like those of his aunt. He was happy for the two boys that they were 'normal.' While he wouldn't want not give up his magic for anything, if they never had it, they couldn't really miss it. And as long as they didn't show magic, their mother would continue to love them.

Before Harry could formulate a protest that might convince her to think differently, he remembered how Voldemort had glorified power when he tried to woo him to his side, when trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone. And a lot of witches and wizards seemed to believe he was justified in doing so. They might not agree enough to actively follow him, but they still allowed him to bully them. Harry had wondered why so few stood with Dumbledore, and this could well be it. He hoped not, but he couldn't be certain. Like when Hagrid had said witches and wizards hid themselves so the Muggles wouldn't constantly ask for their help. Even he himself – if he was truly honest about it - felt above them because of his power, even if he wasn't allowed to do spells unsupervised.

Yet not one wizard-raised seemed ever to get the idea of using their talents to make money in the Muggle world, like Jan did with his herbal products.

-o-o-o-

Andromeda frowned when she saw her daughter's reaction to her 'suggestion'. She had expected a tantrum not fidgeting. Were things that bad already that her daughter would consider giving up her apartment and moving back in? After all the trouble she had gone through to explain her silly, old-fashioned mother that there was nothing wrong with an unmarried girl living alone? No, that could not be it. The day Nymph would acknowledge living apart from one's family was a bad idea would also be the day she would understand she wasn't supposed to be an Auror, and since she still came visiting flaunting those robes…

"You were ordered to spy on me?" Andromeda asked.

Nymphadora nodded, keeping her eyes downcast, probably out of shame for the faux pas of her superiors.

"I am not surprised. We are Blacks, Nymphadora, so we must be evil. In the event we do not appear to be so, we must either be hiding it well or we must be waiting for a convenient moment to turn on them."

"You married father, a muggleborn," her child protested.

Andromeda sighed. "That does not matter – whatever we do, we are considered guilty. Giving us a chance to prove our innocence would be a waste of time. That is how cousin Sirius ended up in Azkaban. You tell me he was framed; had he had a trial, he would have been able to prove his innocence and go free."

Andromeda made a small pause to let her daughter mull that over, so her next words would have the desired impact. "Whatever you may think, Nymphadora, _you_ are a Black, too. Some day, someone will be in need of a scapegoat; if blaming you would be convenient, then those in power _will _remember and the plebeians will simply follow their suggestions."

She didn't really believe she would get through to her daughter this time, but every little seed planted helped. She couldn't give up on Nymph; she had to keep trying to get her out of that department, out of the Ministry entirely, preferably. Her daughter seemed to consider her words at least, staring out in to the woods beyond the garden for a while.

"It's not the Ministry who asked," Nymphadora finally said.

"Dumbledore?" Andromeda answered letting her voice be coloured with a shock she didn't feel, mostly to ensure that she would not sound sarcastic. "Pinning a child against her parents, I believed him to have better ethics than that."

-o-o-o-

Let's see if I can do a little magic, too :-)

Accio Reviews!


	23. Conflicting Influences part 4

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Conflicting Influences****  
**_**Part 4**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Is it legal to sell magic stuff to Muggles outside of Britain?" Harry quietly asked White later that evening.

"That would depend on where you are." White smirked at him. "Jan isn't breaking the law; if anything, he's making his life more difficult than he should by restricting himself even more then the law ordains."

White hadn't matched Harry's quiet tone and Mr. Klaassen must have heard him, for the man stood from his seat in between his sons to come over and hang himself over the back of Harry's chair.

"You're not teaching him that it is okay to trick Muggles with false products, are you?" he asked White suspiciously.

White didn't even have the grace to look contrite. "You ought to; you could use the money to pay your taxes."

Harry frowned. Why would a wizard pay Muggle taxes? But on second thought, Klaassen's two children went to a Muggle school in the nearby village and they had travelled to the park on Muggle roads. Happy to be able to disagree with White, Harry stated this.

"True, and I do pay Muggle taxes. Since I sell to Muggle companies, I have to be registered with their authorities. Unfortunately, this means I cannot escape the tax department's notice, either" Jan said, sounding unhappy about it.

Harry, who had been expecting to have an ally in Mr. Klaassen, reminded the man that it was only fair.

"It would be, but I have to pay Wizarding taxes, too."

"You pay double? Because you're muggleborn?" Harry hadn't thought of it before, but existing in both worlds would have such consequences; another an unfair advantage to the purebloods.

It turned out to be a bit more nuanced as Mr. Klaassen explained, "I pay Wizarding taxes to have a vote in the community council. Contrary to the Muggle political setup, where everyone gets to vote for representatives, who then do what they want for four years, Wizarding families can have a vote in the council if they pay their taxes, which is a set amount, not a percentage of their income."

"It works because we are so small a community," Mrs. Klaassen contributed. "But it has its drawbacks too, for the poor have no voice."

"Not only the poor," Mr. Klaassen added, shooting a fugitive glance at White. "The amount due has tripled over the last few years. It is now ten times as high as half a century ago, while there has been no inflation to speak of."

Since they somehow seemed to hold White accountable for this, Harry turned at him for an explanation.

"The Avalon program takes most of it," White said.

"Research to develop a way to update our spells so unplottable areas are not spotted by satellites," Mr. Klaassen told Harry, sounding resigned. "Most of the rest of the money goes to the wages of Wizarding infiltrates in the Muggle military; they work to obscure the evidence our magic cannot hide. I know the money is well spent and needed, but I fear another tax raise," Mr. Klaassen added looking pointedly at White.

"You need not be," White said. "Tuppence calculated that if the amount is raised again, the number of drop-outs would undo any gain from the higher rates."

"Three years ago, stepping up the pace of the original ICW project dealing with this was voted out," White added, sounding like he harboured a grudge. "The participating countries would have had to increase their contribution and too many were arguing that their budgets where already strained."

Mr. Klaassen continued, "Not all places are warded the same way you know, and some places are easier to hide than others. A lot of New World Wizarding places are built from expanding natural cave systems. Other places like Hogsmeade are known in Muggle records as ruins or little hamlets that no one wishes to visit, a long way from everything, and in natural reservations, mostly."

"It wasn't important for every country, then?" Harry worked out.

White answered him, "Indeed, but for some others, it is vital, so vital that they took over the program and found funding themselves."

"Those non-ICW European communities you told me about earlier?" Harry asked, having a sudden brainwave.

"And several ICW ones, since all of Western Europe faces similar problems, apart from France and Britain."

"What about Diagon Alley, then?" Harry wondered.

White laughed, but it sounded hollow. "I believe your ministry plans to give the place back to the Muggles if it ever gets spotted. They'll move the shops to Hogsmeade."

"What?" Mr. Klaassen yelled. "Those poor shop owners, they'll loose their premises."

"Aren't they renting those anyway?" Harry asked, thinking about the twins' shop.

"Not all of them, certainly not the long standing shops, and some landlords have been selling to their tenants over the last decade. I wondered about that, since it is such an odd move. Bastards, they must have known!" Mr. Klaassen ranted, furious on behalf his foreign colleagues.

"The ministry plans to give up Diagon Alley?" whispered Harry, not quite able to wrap his mind around it. He still remembered fondly his first sight of the old street with its cobblestones and old fashioned storefronts; it had been, well, like magic. To just give it up, it seemed an unfathomable thing to do, even for Fudge.

"No one currently in power in Britain seems to have enough of an investment in the Alley to be interested enough to protect it," White supplied.

Harry harrumphed. '_So callous, those politicians; when they aren't affected, it doesn't matter_.'

"Who does own the premises there, then, apart from some of the shopkeepers?" Harry asked. '_Those people should learn about this, so they can put some pressure on those ministry fools!'_

"That's hard to say," said Mr. Klaassen. "Wizarding families like to keep their powerbase and the extent of their possessions a secret. Their tenants either don't know or are renting via a middleman, or they are sworn to secrecy."

Harry frowned while thinking that over; it didn't seem to fit with what he knew. Draco was bragging about his wealth the whole time. Then again, he had no idea where the Malfoy money came from. Certainly not from renting shops, though; Malfoy Senior had been quite influential until recently and would have done something about it if his source of income was at risk.

-o-o-o-

René was quietly observing the group gathered around the fire. After they were all sated, Jan had put wood on and rekindled it to a friendly glow. René could smell rosemary and pine, creating a relaxing, open atmosphere but still keeping them awake enough for conversation.

Fortunately, Jan had refrained form adding sage, so at least there would not be a danger of philosophical discussions on morals and ethics – well, not more than usual, in any case. While René was actually in the mood for a little verbal sparring, he didn't think it would be a good idea to go into such a discussion with Katrijn in Harry's range of hearing. She made a fierce opponent, and while the young men could learn a lot from listening to their exchanges, it was more likely that he would listen to the arguments themselves. Katrijn's strange ideas would then surely find hold in Harry's mind, a complication than he could do without.

He turned his attention to the youth. Interacting with other children had done him well; even if Harry was too old to be called a child himself, he seemed determined to hold on to his past childhood. René had wondered what benefit the teen saw in that – he himself certainly had wanted to be accepted by his elders earlier rather than later – but then, this attitude of refusing to grow up and behave like young adult should was rather endemic in today's youth.

It was good to see the teen so relaxed, although René knew very well it would not hold; there was still whatever pesky spell Dumbledore had cast waiting to cause havoc. René had been watching for its effects for some days now, so that he would be able to predict when it would break through Harry's defences and disrupt their current understanding. However, the only thing unusual that he had been able to catch was the brief moment Harry had been contemplating jumping of the cathedral tower. While this had given him quite a fright, it had most likely only been a side effect from the magic working on the teen.

'_Unless our dear, old, twinkling headmaster has decided that a boy-who-lives-no-longer-on-his-leash and being encouraged developing his magical potential was dangerous enough to set the boy up to kill himself.'_ However, White had to concede, this was not a likely strategy for a man so arrogant as to trust the Marked servants of his sworn enemy, with the sole purpose being to give them the opportunity to repent.

The other out-of-place thing that René had observed was Harry's interest in the flower beds today. Considering the teen's earlier disregard for his life and the natural poisons inside most of those beauties, this new interest of the teen had given him pause. Having kept an eye on the situation, René was positive that Harry hadn't picked any of the plants.

Harry, meanwhile, was deep in conversation with Caspar, dredging up his astronomy knowledge from the deep caves of his lazy summer brain and having great trouble keeping up with the boy on this subject. Katrijn's eldest had held firm in his fascination with the nightly heavens ever since he was given his first celestial-chart on his sixth birthday. Hearing them talk, René judged that Caspar would be sailing trough his O.W.L. He already knew enough to sit the exam, enough to gain his Astronomy N.E.W.T. too, if the test wasn't too heavy on the mathematics. .

Harry was branching out to astrology and the myths the stars were named for. He seemed to have a good theoretical grasp of this branch of divination; unexpectedly so, since Harry had not earned an OW.L in the subject. As far as René knew, one could scrape an A in Divination by theory only; the powers-who-graded having decided that there would simply be too many failures to hand out if they marked for actual ability. Harry's knowledge of mythology surpassed what Hogwarts would have taught him; it indicated a childhood obsession, especially considering the toned-down versions the teen was narrating, unless, of course, he was sensible enough to edit out all of the more adult parts of the tales to spare Caspar's young ears.

'_Hmm. Perhaps the old myths will be a good place to start off developing the teen's neglected magical talents. It would soon be time to proceed with this in earnest, since Harry was taking to the preliminary exercises like a dragon to fire-breathing. There would still be some problems of him keeping control over his magic, as Harry's true affinity has been neglected so long. Normally, a child's ability to keep his magic in check grew to keep pace as their strength increased. Building on something known from childhood, something implicitly trusted, might encourage Harry to forgo asking questions whose answers he shouldn't hear yet,_' White mused.

-o-o-o-

"You promised to visit the Wizarding centre with me," Harry said, as they walked from the travelling-pole back to the hotel. It had been well past midnight when they had left the Klaassens, and Harry had fallen asleep during the drive back to the lake. White had woken him when they had arrived.

White answered, "I need a bit more time to get some safety measures in place."

Harry nodded but didn't back down. "So when will they be ready?"

"The Leman area is under protection of the Diablo Family. I am acquainted with them, so I informed them of our intent to visit the shopping area here and asked if they could increase the amount of people on guard in the area when we go."

Harry blinked. 'Guards? Not even when he had stayed at Diagon Ally with the Ministry believing there was a mad mass-murderer after him had they ever provided guards. Or had there been extra Aurors at the Alley?' He hadn't known any of them then, so they might have been there in the civilian clothes.

'_Maybe Dumbledore had convinced Fudge to allow me to stay there as bait in hopes of capturing Sirius quickly. That man is overconfident enough to take such a risk with other peoples' lives. He would probably have told himself I would be fine and the scare would keep me in line the next summer.'_

White continued, "The Don wishes to meet you, so we are invited to his home first."

Harry frowned. "Another one of your friends?"

"We are not exactly _friends_; we are aligning our business and helping each other out when appropriate.

"Ah, an ally ," Harry concluded, using the term Slytherins used for everyone they were friendly with. If it was like how he knew the snakes dealt, then this Don would stab White in the back the moment that was more convenient than not: not someone Harry liked to entrust his safety to.

But even that turned out to be much too cosy a description of the relationship; according to White, _"ally"_ was too grand a word.

"We don't share views on many issues, but we don't steal each other's brooms. You see, we are quite equally matched. A clash between our parties would cost the both of us dearly, so we can ill afford it. It would be unprofitable."

To Harry, this sounded even less comforting; it sounded like they would prefer to slit each others throats but were both waiting until they were certain that they would succeed. Absolutely not the kind of person one would go and visit, let alone depend on for your security. White seemed to think it a safe strategy, though, so Harry thought that the only way to not have to visit this Don was to forgo the promised Wizarding outing. Come to think of it, that might very well be what White was trying to make him do. So this Don was probably just a nice guy who wasn't entirely in White's pocket and therefore not, in White's opinion, a friend.

"So when are we expected at his house?" Harry asked, pleased with himself not having fallen for it.

If White was disappointed, or even if he approved of Harry's insight, he wasn't showing it.

"Tomorrow afternoon."

-o-o-o-

Remus decided that he liked Bill, when he got to know him well during the few evenings they had sad together in the Grimmauld Place library to translate the Greek from the contract. From his occupation as a curse breaker, Bill was used to deciphering old and foreign texts, and he knew how to find the more obscure meanings of seemingly straightforward sentences. This was an invaluable skill, since texts like these had a tendency towards having a deeper meaning than what could be garnered at face-value.

However, Remus especially appreciated Bill's ability to reign in his mother's meddlesomeness. _'Maybe,_' Remus thought, _'I am too hard on Molly'_. Still, he could not bring himself to forgive her for the kind of things she had accused Sirius of at the order meeting where they had first discussed the contract.

The very moment he had got more than a passing look at it, Remus had recognized the contract's type for what it was, as he had helped Sirius in researching them when Sirius had been looking possibilities to ascertain Harry's safety when they would they take him away from the Dursley's to live with them at Grimmauld Place.

Neither of them had been happy with the reputation such bindings had acquired during their long history, but Sirius had been getting desperate to free Harry. The more he got to know Harry, the more Sirius had become convinced that the Muggle suburban neighbourhood, and especially the company of the Dursleys, didn't make a proper environment for his godson to grow up in. It wasn't simply the many things that Harry had failed to pick up about how witches and wizards lived that Sirius felt he could make up for when the war was won (Sirius never seemed to doubt that they would win, showing that Azkaban had not taken all of his one-time abundant optimism), what worried the man the most were the negative effects on Harry's personality. Whenever he had been exposed to his family, he was less self-confident, more distrustful, and his natural curiosity was dampened so that it seemed to have been crushed out of existence. Remus's observations were similar, and he had not only explained to Sirius how the shy boy who he met as a Hogwarts professor could have grown out of a child from cocky James and feisty Lily, Remus feared that the damage done by Petunia and her pigs was a permanent part of Harry's make-up now. However, that didn't mean they should allow it to grow worse, and Sirius was determined to ensure that Harry would not need to return to Surrey that summer. However distasteful they found the nature of the spell - and Remus had suspected at some point during their investigation that, for Sirius, there might be a more personal edge to it - it seemed the only viable route. Everything else that they'd found would not be able to shift the ward's focus from his aunt and cousin, other than arranging Harry a marriage, and that, they had agreed, would not be done without the teen's consent and only if the situation in Surrey became truly unbearable.

They had not dared to try any of the more agreeable options they had found, considering Dumbledore's insistence that the Fidelius combined with the multitude of wards on Grimmauld Place were not sufficient to keep Harry safe. They had chosen to derive their draft contract from the version as was used in ancient Sparta, since it was the mildest version they could find, and they had concluded from their research into the matter that, if the existing rapport between Sirius and Harry combined with the Spartan spells wasn't enough to cause the wards to shift, other versions probably wouldn't work either. Sirius had not been willing to live with the consequences anyhow and, considering the nature of the magic involved, they didn't dare count on discipline on Sirius's part, as the spells might turn out to insist on...things.

Remus had tried to explain all this to the assembled Order members; unfortunately, several them had failed to understand his and Sirius's reasoning, mostly because they had ceased to listen when the type of magic the contract was based on was mentioned. Molly had been the most vocal. _'Can she not understand that Sirius had wanted to help?_' Remus fumed, realizing that he as still very frustrated about the conflict.

'_But Sirius had died and now someone else had seen the same opportunity and used it to abduct Harry_.' If an afterlife existed, Remus was certain no one in it would be able to stop Sirius from cursing himself for dying. _'Someone else, with understanding of both Dumbledore's wards - which should be restricted to Order members - and understanding of the magic behind the contract. Someone who had _not _chosen the gentler Spartan version._' This was the very first thing he had checked in his research.

Bill had tried to convince him that this might actually be favourable, for it pointed to the abductor having a motive unrelated to the war. Remus recognised the false comfort for what it was; no dark-sympathiser would be concerned about the difference. At the moment, the letters in which the contract was written where still the sparkling red of fresh blood, indicating that the contract had not passed beyond it first stage _yet._

'_There _is_ still a hope of retrieving Harry, before he is hurt. Still...we can hardly count on some unknown dark wizard's restraint.'_

-o-o-o-

The rest of their walk from the docks to the hotel had passed in silence. Harry was tired but satisfied: he'd had a great day with the theme park and the barbeque and chatting with Caspar. Even though the boy was younger, he was fun and didn't hero-worship him, except for being able to fly a broom.

Truth be told, Harry was quite conflicted about feeling so content. On the one hand, he ought to be with the Order so Dumbledore could keep him safe and train him until the time came to duel Voldemort and fulfil the prophesy and save everyone from evil. On the other hand, he was enjoying the outings and just relaxing during summer. Especially now that the man had let off on getting him to study – well, except for swimming lessons, but Harry didn't mind those; he couldn't count on having gillyweed with him the next time he ended up in a lake.

It was great to be able to just relax, instead of always either studying or solving some life-threatening mystery or working through long lists of chores. This was what his schoolmates did during their summers. He knew that he _ought to_ deserve it, so he resented the fact that he felt like he didn't. Having gotten to know him better ,White wasn't too bad; he just was very strict. But he was a lot fairer than Uncle Vernon, and he even didn't mind you arguing as long as you came up with well-thought arguments. It was hard to believe, but he really seemed to want Harry to enjoy himself, going out of his way to get him what he wanted. Of course, he probably hoped to gain something from it. But all in all, the man didn't seem actually evil, just old fashioned.

Harry yawned when they entered the hotel. '_Maybe I should just put the dream catcher necklace on again… I did make it myself… Jason never even touched it…and it worked…and I would feel much better during the day if I slept well, without all those nightmares. It might be even Voldemort sending them, out of pure spite. Or to get me to confront him before I am ready_.'

When he saw his bed, though, Harry wanted nothing more than just to crash. '_Tomorrow, I'll put the thing back up tomorrow. I'm too tired to move now…probably too tired to even dream.'_

Unfortunately, Harry did dream. He dreamt of kneeling before the Dark Lord and offering his arm to be marked. The worst part of the dream, though, was that somehow his parents were there to watch. His father was telling him that he was no longer his son if he didn't do his duty and his mother was screaming at him that she didn't sacrifice her own life for him so that he could go and do what ever he wanted with his.

"You owe me, Harry! You can't make your own decisions. You owe me to do as I want you to. You! Owe! Me!" she yelled at him, tears streaming over her face, before she hid her face in his father's robes and started bawling.

Dream-Harry just shrugged and turned to smile up to his Master, while Voldemort lowered his wand to Harry's arm.

Harry woke up sweating all over feeling strangely detached, his thoughts jumbled together in the back of his head, not strong enough to really break through to Harry's consciousness. Only one thought stood out clearly in the disjointed mess of his clouded mind: _'I need to get back to the Order, whatever it takes. I owe it to Mum.' _

Wiping the tears from his cheeks, tears that, for some strange, but unimportant reason came streaming steadily from his eyes, he climbed out of bed.

Out of the pocket of yesterday's shorts, he took the little bottle he had nicked. _Digitalis purperea_, better known as wolfsbane or monkshood; a few drops could stop a heart, allowing it a few last frantic beats only. _'I never believed Snape would teach us anything useful.'_ The thought, connected as it was with his home, Hogwarts , made Harry smile – fleetingly, as it was soon lost within the clouds infesting his mind.

As it was almost time to rise, Harry bathed and clothed himself. As though in a dream, he went to the sitting room and ordered breakfast. By the time he heard White's shower, a full English breakfast was waiting. Along with a cup of cappuccino, like White took every morning before anything else. Waiting next to the man's plate. Steaming innocently.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Accio Review!


	24. Cold Feet part 1

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Cold Feet****  
**_**Part 1**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

White was holding his glass orange juice at the stem, circling it between to fingers while he was scanning the morning paper's headlines. Why did he suddenly start there? – each and every morning, the first thing the man did was drink his cappuccino. He wouldn't even touch the paper before he had finished the cup. But today he started out sipping the juice.

White briefly shifted his attention from the paper and turned to it to his toast instead, taking his time to contemplate whether to choose the apricot or the strawberry jam, like it was a life-altering decision. Harry felt more and more uncomfortable with the situation.

'_Overall, White has been quite kind to me …well, compared to the Dursleys, who I should be staying with._ _Apart from lashing me that once, anyway.' _Uncle Vernon had treated to belt him countless times, but his uncle had never dared lay a hand on him since the television set exploded during a particular painful spanking when Harry had been six. Harry still remembered that day well: he had gotten his first report from grade school. Harry had been so proud. It had almost all A's. He'd been certain that surely they would love him now. His aunt and uncle had been very disappointed though: Harry's marks where far better than Dudley's. Soon, however, Vernon had no longer needed to hurt Harry 'to keep him remindful of his place'. Vernon could rely on his son Dudley and the friends he had made at school to soundly beat Harry whenever they could catch him.

'_White takes me places and buys me things, like a parent would. He must have some ulterior motive, but still, he could have simply hexed me until I did what he wanted. It would have been so easy, but he hasn't done that. He hasn't even given me any chores_.' While the hotel had plenty of personnel, Harry knew full well that if he'd been lodging here with the Dursleys, they would still have found all kinds of nonsense things to keep him busy. If they hadn't found a way to get rid of him first. _'They could have, for instance, dumped me with Aunt Marge, to help her with the dogs. Then I would probably have ended up being eaten by Ripper._'

White might have punished him severely, just for not listening to his table manners lecture, but the man had healed his wounds directly afterwards and had not once locked him up or denied him food.

'_He is keeping me with him against my will though. But it's not like I ever had a choice where to stay during summer hols anyway. I'd just endure the Dursleys until someone let me stay elsewhere_.' This year his Aunt and Uncle had not waited until somebody came to relieve them of their unwanted nephew, they had arranged to hand him over to this stranger instead.

'_He is certainly nowhere near as nice as Mrs. Figg, who I was dumped with when I was younger_.' She _had_ been very kind, but staying with her had always been boring. It hadn't needed to be. '_She's a squib, she could have told me al kinds of things about magic and the wizarding world. She could have told me about Hogwarts and Quidditch and magical creatures like dragons and griffins. As soon as I was old enough to understand not to repeat it to the Dursleys. Instead, she babbled about her cats, which aren't even cats, they're kneazles, and she hadn't even said a thing about that_.' Harry had always blamed the Dursleys for not telling him; he now realised there must have been more to it… Mrs. Figg would have told Dumbledore that they kept it from him, that they had fervently denied the existence of magic, even…and Dumbledore must have ordered her to go along with it – or maybe he had originally instructed the Dursleys not to tell him anything…

Harry frowned. '_Why would the headmaster do that? He must have had a reason_.' Anyway, it had been boring and Harry vastly preferred staying with White.

Harry focussed his attention on White again. '_As soon as he drinks the cappuccino, his heart will start racing, until his muscles can't relax anymore in between beats, imitating a heart attack. Then White would be dead. Really dead_.

_Because of me – I'd be responsible,_ Harry realised. _Not by accident or in self-defence, but because I'd planned to._ Harry's own heart was racing now. What possessed him to murder a man in cold blood? What had he been thinking? _Had_ he been thinking?

White chose that moment to pick up his cup and slowly move it towards his mouth, his attention on the morning paper again.

"Don't drink that!" Harry exclaimed.

White froze. His eyes locked on Harry's. Harry would have liked to say he saw comprehension dawning in those eyes, but what he saw held more resemblance to disappointment, quickly replaced by anger.

"Whyever not?" White asked, with fake casualty, "You wouldn't happen to know if there would be something wrong with it, would you?"

Harry swallowed, at a loss for words. How does one go about telling someone you had put poison in their drink, but changed your mind about murdering them?

"What did you put into it?" White asked, sounding curious.

"Wolfsbane," Harry whispered, looking down at the table. There was a cloth on it, pristinely white, like pure innocence. Harry let one of his fingers track spirals on it, centred his awareness as when had learned to do when sensing for magic, as if by focussing enough on it's characteristics, he could somehow become like the cloth again, clean, spotless.

"I see," White said. "So, you did manage to pick some then, without me noticing. _That_, at least, is commendable."

That ridiculous remark shook Harry from his guilt trip. "What? Commendable? That I nicked it without you seeing? Commendable! That I'm a good thief?"

"Oh, you were expecting me to laud you for your foolishness? Planning to kill someone, then getting cold feet at the last moment. And – _telling_ – him?" White's voice grew louder with each word, until he was almost yelling the last few.

Harry was at a loss. Was the man more irate over the fact that he had warned him than he was over that he had tried to kill him in the first place?

"Eat your breakfast," White said, his voice at a controlled level of sound again.

Harry wanted to, if only so things would seem normal; but he didn't feel like eating. He forced himself to, however, not wanting to further upset White. The man had gone all cold and controlled, which Harry guessed meant he was truly livid. Harry did manage to swallow a few bites, but mostly just moved his toast around until White had finished eating, foregoing his coffee for today.

-o-O-o-

René noted that the sentries guarding the Diablo dwelling were fairly relaxed, revealing to him that the family had not yet sensed any noteworthy change in the economic or political climate on the continent. Neither had he.

Britain had made appeals for help to each ministry of magic as well as a general one to the ICW. As far as he could deduce, none had reacted with any enthusiasm. Not that René believed the current easy quiet would last – Britain's quarrelling parties would soon send their recruiters across the Channel, if they hadn't already. While he hoped people would be wise enough to stay out of it, he knew all too well how easily youngsters could be trapped with the promise of adventure, glory, and the opportunity to right the wrongs their 'retarded' elders were contently living with.

The wards around the Diablo estate where nigh to fully charged. As always. The Diablo family had fewer scruples than René himself had about meeting the necessities that went with keeping permanent wards.

They also had a lot less ground to cover. The luxurious villa the family proudly called home had been crafted half a century ago by the now world-famous architect Eduardo Palazzo, with the garden design done by a famous landscaper from the French oriental colonies whose name was, in René opinion, meant to be neither pronounced nor written. The estate was conceived by the Don to honour his younger brother's marriage.

The villa was visible from the main road; this had the advantage that the place could not easily be attacked using magic without the fighting being spotted by Muggles. Switzerland subscribed to the ICW ruling that an attacker is held responsible for any revealed magic whether it originates from the attacking or defending side even if the attacking party is not employing magic. Several magical sites had taken that to mean the ruling would include Muggle attacks, or even trespassing as well, and had built their wards accordingly. No such case had yet made it to court, so jurisdiction was still pending. In the Diablo's case, no one had found enough reason to attack them and risk ICW persecution for breaking the Statute. Not even the Roman Catholic Church, but that was probably due to the family being both 'devoted' and successful enough to make interesting donations. The One True Church didn't feel bound by the Statute, since their abilities were a gift of the Holy Lord, and therefore discreet from the heathen concept of magic.

All in all, the wards around the estate were of the kind that would last for decades without serious deterioration, unless directly attacked by magic. René expected that their defence tactics also included taking prisoners.

The brother for which it had been designed to be a wedding present had never seen the house completed, as he had succumbed to the effects of a rather nasty curse just weeks before the wedding date. Shortly after this incident, the Don had chosen to move his entire extended family to the new house and had focused their dealings northwards. It hadn't been a retreat; never suggest that it had been, not if you valued your health. It had been a business decision and a good one, too, as the family had done well for itself, eclipsing their once-rivals.

From the corner of his eye, René studied Harry, who was sitting next to him in the backseat of the car he had hired for the day. Harry behaved unusually tractably; the teen was probably dreading punishment for the aborted murder attempt and was trying to appease him by showing proper respect to his elders for once.

'_Or maybe Harry is still feeling guilty. I will have to do something about that_,' René realised, irritated. Harry could not afford squeamishness when dealing with enemies, perceived or real. The moment the teen took of on his own broom, he would be turned by the first wolf (1) to catch his scent. René didn't like the idea of risking another attempt on his life, even though he was fairly sure whatever the teen would invent would be easily circumvented. Harry had not even realised he had known about the poisoning; apparently, he had not noticed how well-watched he was since the police had saved him from that street fight.

Harry noticed he was being studied and gave René a wary look.

'_Yes, he definitely expects some kind of punishment is pending.' _Which it was, of course; René realised he could not let the boy get away with planning to kill him. Never mind that Harry had been egged on by Dumbledore's doing, as the magic could only work with some kernel that had to be already there, however latent.

Harry had escaped an immediate response, since René did not want to be late; the Diablos took insult pretty quickly. With the boy's lack of social grace and only basic knowledge in manners, René expected his diplomatic abilities to be heavily called on during this visit anyhow. Besides, a bit of trepidation would not be wasted on the teen.

The beautifully carved wooden fence, which looked deceptively easy to circumvent, opened its gates after the usher had recognised him and verified the guest list. That part of the procedure was only for show; there would be no other guests and he was well-known enough not to warrant any checking. Next, he was invited to cast a minor charm on the registration statue, a beautiful unicorn of white marble. The horn, hair, and other details were embellished with spelled-in silver, a recently invented technique which meant that objects sporting it were thought exclusive and highly sought-after, and therefore over-abundant in places frequented by the privileged. Only after his magical signature had thus confirmed his identity did the guards lower their wands and guns. Harry was not asked to register; the teen had not visited here before, so his signature would not be recognised. It was not the place of an unnamed guard to invite the teen to introduce himself to the statue. While René was much less temperamental than the Diablos, the Don knew not to insult him.

While the car drove up the ingress, René spotted the Don walking onto his veranda to welcome them. The elderly man had a spring in his step and looked awake and cheery. Pension – well, ruling his empire through is sons and son in-laws - agreed with him. At least, now that he had had time to have adjusted to it. While René valued the Don's acquaintance, he rejoiced at having escaped the position of son-in-law, knowing he didn't fit any position in any chain of command but the top. Thus, he avoided acquiring superiors as much as possible.

René had told Diablo beforehand that Harry had been brought up outside, adding that the only good thing about his former guardians was that they had not tried to instil their narrow-minded middle class Muggle habits in the boy, so he was merely lacking manners and not an advocate of improper ones. While the Don had promised not to hold it against the boy, it was still bound to work in their disfavour.

Introductions went without incident, although René noticed the Don was wondering why someone such as Seigneur de Blanc was bothering with the boy, even if the child was famous in Britain. The Don had believed him to have pulled away entirely from that country, but now it seemed Diablo operatives would investigate that 'fact' shortly. René was not happy with that, not that he had any half-lucrative business left there – what Malfoy hadn't stolen, Avery and Nott had divided between them - but he still had interests there, and it was better not be known too widely.

When they had settled down on the patio, the Don had offered coffee and cakes. René had steered the conversation in such a direction as to encourage Harry to bring up his godfather, knowing the Don would lash on onto the topic; Sirius Black had gained a lot of respect in certain circles, being the fist ever wizard to break out of Azkaban. Harry turned out to be some what strained making conversation, but was wise enough to keep Sirius means of escape to himself, although the Don didn't believe his proclamation of 'he never told me.' It would have been more believable if Harry had said Sirius had used a spell kept private in the Black family. Sadly, Harry lacked the understanding of their culture to spot such an easy way out. The Don noted that, too, and gave René a sympathetic glance, which Rene acknowledged. _'At least he probably will not go digging too deeply in my British connections now.'_

Harry then said something complimentary about the unusual architecture of the villa, calling it 'organic.' Which, according to the Don, was characteristic to the architect's style and his home was an early expression of it. The Don had been captivated by the style having seen it in photos from relatives in the colonies. He had then sponsored the architect to come to Europe. They spoke at length about wizarding architecture, which secured Harry a tentative approval from the Don, who seemed to have decided that even if the teen knew nothing, he recognised what was interesting, taking that as an indication that the boy had the potential to warrant some degree of protection and interest. René kept silent himself, not wishing to draw attention to his own ignorance of modern architecture. It turned out that this organic style had no benefit but being pretty, which was all well if you needed to build a new house but no reason to change an existing one.

Harry's remark and his avid listening to the history of the building and the interesting details about the architect naturally led to them being granted a tour of the building and the grounds. The Don even failed to take offence at Harry's enquiries about the wards and protections. The teen didn't get his curiosity satisfied though.

_'He ought to realise no one would reveal their defences and that it is impolite to inquire about them in this matter_,' René suspired. The Don caught his eye and grinned at him, amused by the situation and probably Schadenfreude over the amount of work René had in front of him.

The tour ended near the garden pool, where Harry was introduced to the Don's grandchildren and grand-cousins. Harry spent the rest of the afternoon playing with them.

Dinner also went without trouble – well, from Harry. René had been relieved their visit was going so well and got a bit bold when the bachelor status of the Don's favourite son came up. The subject himself was not there, as he had been held up at work and since he ran the operational part of the Diablo business – that could mean anything. Most scenarios were better not mentioned within Harry's hearing. Luckily, the Don never spoke business when the ladies and children of the family were present. Even though knowing how serious the Don took his son's unmarried state, René had jokingly suggested Miss Grindelwald as a possible candidate for the desired nuptials. The Don did earnestly consider the idea.

"Miss Grindelwald is not the kind of lady I would consider wife material," he decided.

René held back a snort at his disparaging tone. "I can imagine you would think so; however, she is the kind that Dario might accept."

"He is a capable boy, my Dario is, but he has no sense of what makes a good mother." The Don defended the unspoken allusion that his son would refuse a wife his father chose for him. René knew for a fact that this had already occurred, several times; not openly, of course, and no one with sense would draw attention to the fact that they knew.

"Oh, I think he has," one of the other sons spoke up in a flare of boldness. "He just knows that those are not the characteristics he likes in a woman."

The Don huffed.

"A more outspoken, active woman, while harder to keep in line will gift her sons with those characteristics, too," René suggested, deciding that it was too good an opportunity to miss getting Dario a bit indebted to him.

The ladies at the table were wearing respectably horrified expressions and several of the Don's grandchildren sent glances at him that made him feel decidedly unwelcome, for the Don was now looking over his relatives gathered around the table one by one, clearly finding them wanting.

Harry had paled, René noticed, raking his brain over the last few minutes of the conversation to figure out what might have upset the teen so. He couldn't imagine what it could have been, nothing had that had been said had anything to do with Harry himself. Unless the boy was shocked to find out the Grindelwald family had managed to hold on to their status on the continent after Dumbledore's betrayal in 1945? Surely he had known, well, not about the less savoury role of the 'great' Dumbledore in the whole affair, of course, but of the family surviving.

-o-O-o-

Louise Granger lay in her beach chair, waiting for her husband to return form the police interrogation. To keep her mind from forming ridiculous stories about what they might want from him, she was listening in on the conversation between her daughters. They were chatting happily about the boys who were showing off on the beach, giving the males points and discussing the merits and flaws of their bodies. While it was utterly respectless to talk about fellow human beings like that, it made Louise smile since she considered it a good revenge on centuries of man keeping woman confined to house and children. Besides, her daughters' talk was not mean-spirited.

It had been a lazy week, and a good decision to travel to Italy this summer. The blue beauty of the Lago di Como surrounded by the green mountains was breathtaking even after almost a fortnight, and the summer heat was making them all lazy and easy-going.

Hermione had resented their choice; Italy didn't much interest her, since the British magical government had issued an advisory to avoid all non-essential travel to any magical locations there. This was the main reason they had chosen the country as their primary destination.

Their second daughter disliked going into wizarding spaces. She had been just as enthusiastic as Hermione, once, but when her own eleventh birthday had passed without an invitation to join that world, her enthusiasm had turned to dislike. Louise herself had been immensely relieved. Their oldest had been growing further and further apart from them, however much they tried to support her and tried to include themselves into the world their daughter now lived in. She hadn't given up yet, but she no longer was able to believe that she ever would. And she recognised that fact as the dawning of the day that she would have lost her Hi-Ha-Hermy.

At least they would not be losing their youngest. Not to magic, at least; she might still elope with some prince on a white horse – and dump the prince at the first occasion. She was absolutely besotted with horses. So much so, that they had allowed her to attend a several week long expert dressage training camp this summer. It had come really dear – but she and her husband didn't want to differentiate between their two daughters. Hermione had magic and brains and a scholarship at Hogwarts to hone her talents. Her younger sibling, while not being unintelligent either, was not going to win a scholarship, even at a less-fancy boarding school. But when it came to horses, she had her own kind of magic. She need not say a word, yet they understood her and she them.

When their youngest was at the camp, the rest of their little family would be touring the Alps, up through Switzerland, east through Germany, back south through Austria. During their trip, they would allow Hermione to visit some Wizarding places. Apparently, there was an all-magic city in the Alps, and the Black Forest in Germany held several villages that were famous for their bi-yearly summer festival. Hermione, of course, considered these the highlights of their holidays, but Louise was happier seeing her two daughters relaxing and amicable together now.

Finally, Louise saw her husband walking towards her. He waived when he saw her looking, he was smiling and seemed as relaxed as he had been this morning. '_Thank God, her Nigel hadn't been in any real in trouble.'_

"What did they want with you?" she asked, curious as to what the Italian police detective had wanted to interrogate her husband about.

"We happen to share the family name with a child on whose case he is working. He wanted to know if we were related and asked all kinds of questions about our family. He wasn't very informative; all I was able to gather is that some boy was abducted and recovered and they're trying to track his family to reunite them. The kid's family is touring several countries this summer; apparently the family continued their trip even with their son missing."

"And they believed we might be his family? Like we would not have run straight to the police if we ever lost one of the children," Louise said, shuddering at the thought. Their girls might think they were as capable as an adult, as they'd encouraged that since it was good for their sense of self-worth. To an adult, it was clear they were still children. She had been a child herself at that age, at eighteen she still had only been playing at being grown-up. As far as she was concerned, the age of majority should be raised to 21 and not lowered to seventeen, as Hermione seemed to think it should be.

Nigel nodded his agreement. "I told him we had no sons, or nephews, which they seemed to pity me for."

Louise snorted; silly Italians, like daughters were not just as valuable as sons.

Nigel guessed her thoughts and grinned mischievously, "So I added that if we would have had a son, you would not have let me give him such a dull name. And, of course, being policemen, they where devoid of any sense of humour and decided to detain me to give me some time to think."

Louise did not comment on her husband's stupid act of defiance against authority; she knew his tendencies. He would not accept being bossed around or told what to think; it was the main reason they had their own practice.

"Strange, though," she said pensively, "that the child's parent had not reported him missing."

"It is hard to imagine. Criminally negligent, if you ask me, but then, some people should not be allowed to be parents."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

(1) Two wizarding sayings:

_To take of on ones own broom._  
Means: To be independent, like a bird after it leaves the nest and is expected to fend for itself.

_To be turned by the first wolf to smell him._  
Means: Someone who is too naïve or inexperienced to keep himself safe.

Any tips welcome, especially on pacing… runs of to finish drafting part two of this chapter….  
Cheers!


	25. Cold Feet part 2

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Cold Feet****  
**_**Part 2**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Author Notes:

Most of this chapter was written on borrowed computers, some parts where even done on my mobile phone, which while capable of processing text is not a device meant for writing lengthy texts on. Unfortunately the trouble with computers and internet access is not solved jet. On the good side, I'll be sending the next post to my beta this weekend. Who it cannot be said is wonderful; especially in helping me out with alternatives for common fanon ideas that don't fit my story.

All my reviewers: You are wonderful, chocolate frogs for all of you and keep the feedback coming! (I'll reply to your reviews as soon as the next post is sent of to beta :-) )

'Unlisted but Interested' since you have no account I'll reply here:

Yes! Someone noticed that White was talking about Slughorn instead of Snape. I was binding to fear my writing was too obscure and I should spell things out mush more instead of leaving my readers the joy of spotting things. I myself like reading stories that keep me on my toes. As for your question about White's reasons: Humans are rarely simple, and the things they choose to do or not to do tend to have many reasons, some conscious some not. White's ploy with Harry is something he just had to do. He simply couldnot not interfere. I might write in some ideas that other characters have about Whites reasons. Thanks for drawing my attention to the question.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"What part of 'not welcome' did you fail to understand?" Lady Malfoy bit at him.

She was not happy to see him. Which made ducking past her into the main hall of Malfoy mansion all the more inviting. He took his time admiring the Victorian decor and the crystal and marble grandeur of the place.

Lady Malfoy grew more irritated. "State what you want and be gone."

He turned to her, grinning. "I am staying for dinner."

"No, you are not. There was nothing in Lord Black's letter requiring me to play hostess to a filthy squib. Now if he would come himself, I would gladly be my most gracious."

"Unfortunately, he is not trusting enough to even reveal his identity, so you are to deal with me and I am staying for dinner." He stuck out his tongue just to see how she would react. She managed to ignore it – damn stuck up Brits with their stoic faces.

"I have missed tea?" Jason asked.

She answered with a curt nod. A table laden with sweets and steaming tea was probably sitting ready for her somewhere in a cosy corner of the garden, but she would never share it with the likes of him. Well, if she wasn't going to invite him, she could do without herself for a day.

"Pity. I had so hoped to experience the famous British high tea once. Well, there _will_ be dinner." He grinned. "By the time you have told me everything you managed to glean about the plans and doings of the Dark Lord and his merry man and women, I will be starving. Besides, I long to meet young Lord Malfoy."

_That_ got a reaction. "Oh, no, you will stay away from my son! Filthy squib."

She was dancing around the need to say his name. Clearly, she didn't want to honour him with the family name or imply familiarity by using his given name – a common Muggle one at that, choosing to be delightfully rude instead. '_Now let's see how long she can keep that up_.'

"Now, young lady, where are your manners?" Jason scolded her.

"Manners are reserved for respectable people."

"Am I to take that as an insult on my blood and family?" He answered, amused.

She glared at him, a very unbecoming look on her aristocratic features. "The only thing more shameful then being a squib is being a Black squib!"

"My existence offends your sentiments, does it? Shattering your narrow, perfect little world?"

She opened her mouth – to sprout more insults, no doubt – but he didn't give her the time. "You will introduce me to your son. You can refrain from mentioning my vast magical capabilities, if you fear it might broaden your sheltered darling's worldview."

"I see absolutely no reason why—" she started to object.

He interrupted her, "I speak with Lord Black's authority. Don't deny it; I have seen what was in the letter he sent you. You will act as if I were the man himself." He shot her one of his most charming smiles. "As far as you know, I might very well _be_ the man himself." The shock on her face was awesome to behold, but of short duration, as it turned into fierce denial almost directly.

"We will have dinner and Draco is going to inform me all about his classmate the Boy-Who-Lived."

That got her attention, enough to not only be civil but to become familiar. "Why the sudden interest, Jason?"

"You don't need to know," he replied, not reacting to her sudden acknowledgement of their relation. He strode into the manor as if he owned it. "And since dear Draco is underage and your husband is in Azkaban, _again_, I will sit at the head of the table. As is proper." He didn't need to look back to know that _that _would have dear Cissa fuming.

-o-o-o-

Upon returning from the Diablos, Harry made a beeline for his room. White tended to leave him alone there, so it was the only place Harry could be safe from the man's anger. White had indeed allowed Harry get ready for bed, giving Harry hope that he might get away with only the scolding he had received.

'_Typical. He lets me get away with murder but not with using the wrong knife._'

The night plagued Harry with particularly nasty dreams featuring in turn White, the Diablo children, Voldemort, and himself as villains. He woke several times clutching his stuffed lion – because he was longing for the familiarity of Gryffindor tower, of course, he told himself. Curiously, the most straightforward and least scary of the nightmares was a scar-induced one in which Voldemort was torturing one of his Death Eaters. Harry couldn't bring himself to care – those stupid enough to join up with the creep didn't deserve any better.

The next morning passed without incident, with White following their established rhythm of breakfast followed by Harry practising his swimming, after which they visited the shooting range and ending the morning routine with lunch. Only unlike most days, lunch was in the hotel room and no mention was made about the afternoon program. It was after room service had taken the leftovers from their lunch away that Harry's luck ran out.

"We have some unresolved business from yesterday morning, do we not?" White stated.

"I am so sorry, really, I did not know what possessed me," Harry said hurriedly. He had been wondering: he used to be worried about becoming a murderer when he would duel Voldemort to fulfil the prophesy. How did that suddenly change into a desire to off White who, as far as Harry could tell, was nowhere near as evil? Well, at least not in real life. Harry's subconscious seemed to have other ideas, if he considered the dreams it plagued him with over the last week.

"You don't, indeed," White answered cryptically. He pointed at one of the drawers in the dresser near the window. "Fetch me the Hymarweddi"

"What?!"

"You tried to kill me; how can you expect not to be called up the carpet for it?"

Harry tried reasoning with him. "I stopped you from drinking the poison."

"You got cold feet about murdering someone," White sneered, "so you recalled your attempt, _after_ revealing your intentions."

Harry was astonished. He knew White held some weird ideas, but this, being annoyed because he didn't get poisoned? "Are you wanting to punish me for failing to kill you?"

"When murdering someone, the prudent make sure their attempt is successful the first try. Moreover, they take measures so that they are beyond suspicion of the deed, unless, of course, the victim is friendless and has no family willing to acknowledge him."

Harry briefly wondered how many men White had offed. He decided not to argue the matter, since White might turn it into a lecture and the idea of learning how to become a criminal made Harry squeamish.

"I am not getting the thing so you can lash me with it." He instead returned the conversation to something he felt he could deal with.

White's lips curled into that malicious smile of his. "You might want to reconsider that, for you will stand for thirty leashes, and if I have to get the Hymarweddi myself, I will use _forte_."

Harry swallowed. That was even more then last time. It would be nasty enough at a normal force, but if they were _forte_, his back would be shredded. Well, there would be healing salve, so he only had to look forward to one night of discomfort. Harry held his chin high, though, communicating with his eyes that the man could go fuck himself – he wasn't going to help him punish him.

White seemed to find more cruel amusement in this, making Harry rethink his actions.

"Look, I am really sorry and I will not do it again," said Harry. While he said it, Harry realised that he meant it, too. Merlin, he had attempted to murder someone in cold blood. He still got the chills even thinking about it.

"I am happy to hear it," White said, but somehow this sounded much less sincere to Harry than his own statement had. "You would have gotten in a lot of trouble had you succeeded. Not that you would have; you are still disgustingly obvious," White finished.

'_So he had known something? How? Had he been playing along to see if I would go through with it, the bastard_.' Harry fumed inwardly. He fought to get his growing anger back in check: letting it out, while it would be liberating to yell the man's ears off, would only provoke White into doing something worse.

"You cannot expect me to just stand here and allow you to whip me," Harry said.

"You learning to own up to the consequences of your actions is the main part of my reason for disciplining you. The Hymarweddi is just the tool. Besides, letting you get away with it will not make as much of an impression on you. It is in the front of your mind now, but none too soon the whole affair will be out of it entirely. The pain will help to anchor it somewhat deeper, so that you can actually learn from this mistake."

"Can't you punish me some other way?" Harry asked. He knew he could handle pain, but it felt wrong to stand for it, not fighting back. Having something imposed upon him that he couldn't fight would make him feel better about himself. He would feel less weak, less dependant. "Like sending me off without dinner or grounding me for some time, like normal people do?" Harry proposed. Hopefully not for too long; he had some things to read, but staying in his room would get boring fast. But even if it was a week, it would still be way better than his cupboard, and with the connected private bathroom, he wouldn't even need to wait for someone to allow him to relieve himself.

White seemed unmoved. "Going easy on one's charge would be neglectful in my duties as a guardian. Pain is a swift and clean way to get lessons across. Useful for those unwilling to use their own minds. Unfortunately, you are long past the age it would be proper to drape you over my knee for a sound spanking. Besides, withholding you your dinner or locking you away would be a crime."

'_Right, and beating me isn't.'_ Harry bit his lip. Uncle Vernon had taught him long ago that talking back made punishments worse. '_If only I could remember that when dealing with Snape. I'd have a lot less detentions in school_.' Snape was always unfair, though, while White had a point. '_I wonder how Snivellus would retaliate if I had tried to poison him.'_

Whatever had shown on Harry's face, it made White feel the need to elaborate. "You have been kept from participating in both the Muggle and the Wizarding world, to the point that your knowledge of both societies and how to function well in them is crippled. You are lagging far behind your age group, even compared to a Muggleborn or a child from an economically-challenged family. Therefore, you need all the social exposure that I can give you. As for withholding you food, while you are not exactly underfed, you certainly do not have any reserves on you. A boy your age needs a lot of nutrients to stay healthy and grow. I take it you don't want to stay your current height?"

Harry made a face. Last year, there had been third years who where taller than he was. Not many, but still. The only thing good about his physical features was that being lithe and small was handy for playing seeker. Well, and for dodging curses. But Ron was already a head taller than him, and Ron's shoulders seemed twice as wide. Harry wanted every bit of height and broadness that he could get.

Seeing no other angle to get White to change his mind, Harry said, "Fine, I will stand still for it, but I am not going to get that torture rope for you."

"Very well, have it as you wish. It will be Forte then," White replied, standing to fetch the rope from the drawer himself.

At White's words, Harry shrugged; he wasn't giving in to whatever White thought. He was just dealing with the unavoidable and if it would be a bit more painful, well, it was still a far cry from the Cruciatus Curse.

"I will not stand for any childishness. Any running around and I restart counting," White said.

Harry pursed his lips. He hated standing still for this; it felt too much like he was consenting to White lashing him, like agreeing that that villain had the right to discipline him. Never mind that he had done something wrong and deserved it. White shouldn't be the one to discipline him for it, especially since White's idea of what it was that he did wrong was very different than his own. Harry wouldn't fight this new rule by running around. He'd stay still; thirty lashes was bloody well more than enough.

Harry glanced briefly to the man's eyes hopefully, making himself look abashed and forlorn, hoping to get the man to go easy on him. He didn't really have much hope, but he knew it to have worked marvels on some of his teachers. His third grade teacher, who had been a real hag otherwise, had been especially susceptible to it.

White did seem regretful for a moment, but then he lifted his wand – the first time, Harry realised, that he had actually seen the man carry one – pointed it at his own chest and murmured something that Harry didn't catch. In an instant, his demur changed; his now cold eyes filled with glee, anticipating the enjoyment of watching someone suffer. Harry inadvertently took a few steps back, just to get more distance from the man. He bumped with his back to the door and White advanced on him, his now predatory smile showing two rows of perfect teeth. Harry couldn't fathom how he could have believed the man's smile had seemed unfriendly before.

White imperiously waved him to the middle of the room and told Harry to take his shirt off.

Harry gasped as the first lash hit him, the pain being worse then he remembered. He tried to tell himself that it was much less painful than the Cruciatus Curse again. He also tried not to make any sound as subsequent lashes hid his back, not wanting to give his tormentor the satisfaction of hearing him yell.

White had positioned himself a few steps in front of him and was watching his reactions, clearly savouring each contortion of Harry's face, so Harry tied not to look at White either.

Harry hated not resisting, even if he knew doing so would only make it worse. At least he only had to stand still and wasn't helping the man hurt him like Umbridge had made him do with that horrible quill of hers.

"It is easier to take if you relax," the man advised.

Harry shot him a glare.

"The lashes have much more impact on tense muscles."

"Like you would know," Harry said forgetting to hold his breath for the next strike, regretting that as soon as it impacted.

"I do. So I know your pride is hurt much worse than your back," White said, but when Harry caught his eye, he sniggered. "Your grimaces are charming."

Somewhere near twenty, Harry did try to relax. By then, he would welcome anything that would make it easier to bear, even if it was some advice White had offered up.

He screamed with the next impact.

"When relaxing, you need to welcome the pain and not just let it overwhelm you."

Harry would have loved to see how White would welcome pain – like if he swung the decorative vase from the dresser at the man's head. Only the promise that if he moved they would start the counting from the start held him back. '_I should've let him drink the damn cappuccino. Should've let him choke on it.'_

Finally, the magic whip ceased its attack on Harry's back, rolling itself up in White's hand, a seemingly innocent little piece of string one more.

Harry felt blood trickle down his back. Last time, he had been a bid melodramatic; this time, there would be blood on the carped for real. _'No one will notice; White will just spell it out.'_ And no doubt there would be healing salve for his back again, removing all evidence of the abuse before he was let out of the apartment.

Harry toyed with the thought of telling Mr. Willkommen about the whipping. He could tell him the salve was some kind of new super-medicine or something. Especially if he took a sample, which would allow him to demonstrate it.

White's harsh voice cut through his thoughts. "Go to your room."

Harry briefly hesitated, trying to come up with a way to be contrary, to assert his independence. However, he really wanted to get out of White's sight before the man decided it would be fun to watch Harry suffer through another set of lashes.

"I HATE YOU," he yelled just before slipping into his room.

"Good to hear, Pumpkin. I would be devastated if you were indifferent," Harry heard White softly answering just before he closed the door behind him.

-o-o-o-

[Scene Order meeting – Whites magical signature Remus POV words 1000]

Since Harry's disappearance, Remus had come to dread Order meetings. He was used to them covering bad news, only now the news wasn't about new threats to faceless strangers, which were abstract enough to allow for some emotional distance. Those kind of reports were still there. But now, most of the meetings focussed on the report about Harry.

Currently, Kingsley was telling his findings at the boy's uncle's workplace. Vernon had said that a 'Mr. White' had visited him at his work, so Kingsley had gone to Vernon's office at Grunnings to see if any traces of magic could be found.

Kingsley's report didn't resolve much, but it did give Remus' imagination all kinds of input to come up with new horror stories about what fate Harry could be suffering.

Arthur had reported earlier; he had pulled some favours at the Ministry's Office of Records and found that no one was known with that name in any ICW country. This revealed less than Remus would have liked, since there were still a few remote magical communities who refused to acknowledge any global authority, and even many of the ICW counties had a less-than-perfect registry. So while the man was probably using a false name, he might not be.

It wasn't helping that the signature on the contract was an illegible scrawl. The only way to identify that would be to recognise the same illegible scrawl elsewhere. His mother's adage that one's signature should be legible since it was meant to identify oneself was old fashioned, even amongst traditional purebloods, regretfully. Remus' mother had always maintained that one should only sign papers that one was proud to be associated with, and so one's name should stand out clearly. James and Sirius used to joke that it was no wonder it went out of fashion; wizards, especially purebloods, tended not to take credit for their shenanigans. It had led to them setting the record of detentions: if a prank was theirs, they would make certain it was known. Unless it failed, of course.

Kingsley had indeed been able to trace some magic, even though Vernon had been certain his visitor hadn't used any. A wand could have been used circumspectly.

"The signature was severely blurred, so it was impossible to get a definite match," Kingsley finished.

Tonks looked up sharply at that, Remus noted, but Emmeline beat her to the question. "So you've found some matches."

"Comparing the signature to those in the Auror files of wanted suspects, convicted criminals, and the ICW diplomats' records, yes. This gives a list of potential matches of over fifty names, ranging from petty criminals known to be sitting out a sentence somewhere, to illustrious names like Dark Lord Grindelwald himself. On the other hand, the list also includes perfectly respectable people like an ICW representative and the eight-year-old daughter of a Scandinavian diplomat. Even Sirius' deceased little brother is on the list. The only living person on the list that we know to be linked to You Know Who would be Karkaroff, the former Headmaster of Drumstrang," Kingsley concluded.

He looked questioningly at Snape, who obligingly answered the unspoken question.

"They're still looking for Karkaroff; he must have hidden himself extremely well."

"Well, we can at least rule out the dead ones," Dumbledore said cheerily.

"Can we? I wouldn't be so sure," Moody grumbled quietly. Remus didn't think he meant to be heard by any one; he had yet to hear Moody critique Dumbledore openly, however Remus' sharp ears picked it up.

'_Is one of the 'deaths' on the list disputable or is this just Mad Eye being his paranoid self_?' Remus wondered.

Taking advantage of the lapse in conversation brought about by the nervous sniggers brought about by Dumbledore's statement, Tonks brought the discussion back to what had startled her earlier. "Kingsley?" she asked. "You said that Vernon stated that he saw no wand, and the signature seems unusually slurred if there is such a wide array of matches. Even if it was some time ago, the signature should still be rather pristine, since there wouldn't have been any magic in his office to interfere with it. Should we assume that 'White' might have been casting wandlessly?"

Several order members shuddered at her suggestion. Remus stifled a moan; the girl was sharp, but she just didn't know when to keep her observations to herself. Now they would be discussing the possible magical strength of Harry's abductor, which would not help them get any closer to finding him. '_Unless you count ruling out the diplomat's daughter.'_

Molly looked decidedly unhappy during the discussion that followed. Remus didn't think she was sharing his impatience, though.

Of course it would have been better if the wizard who took Harry was not very magically powerful; even if he were of average strength, it would have increased Harry's changes of overpowering him and escaping. However, contrary to what some of the Order members were worried about, being held by strong wizard didn't put Harry in more danger of having vile spells cast on him. Remus thought, tuning the discussion out again. The nastiest magic one could fall victim to, tended to depend on finesse, rather than strength. Remus already knew this, and his forays in the Black Library had strengthened this belief. A near squib could do a world of damage given the right resources, time, and determination. So long as no one found them out and started a duel, anyway.

He caught Bill's eye, and the oldest Weasley son smiled wryly at him. He knew, too; the ancients whose graves he robbed for Gringotts had known no wands, had not even distinguished persons with or without magic as being somehow different.

The man looked restless. Remus could imagine Bill was used to the freedom in faraway fields, constantly challenged to outwit his long-since gone opponents. A life Remus would have loved to live himself. But, alas, Goblins despised werewolves. For them, not being in control of ones aggression was a severe character flaw.

Remus shrugged; he was used to being trapped, but Bill should not be.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Author Note:

Please don't get depressed for Harry's shake, he'll soon show that he can stand up for himself. Within 3 posts, I promise.

For now there is just one thing left to be said:

_Accio Reviews!_


	26. Cold Feet part 3

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Cold Feet****  
**_**Part 3**_

Beta'd by the wonderful Amarine, but all remaining mistakes are my own.

Thanks to all those that reviewed, it is appreciated to know the story is appreciated.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

After the door had slammed shut behind Harry, René got out of the chair he had been lounging in and walked into his own room, the only place in their suite that was out of out of range of the dampening crystals. With a flourish of his wand, he ended the stone-heart curse he had cast upon himself earlier. He had felt he needed the curse to keep his resolve against Harry's pleading eyes. Of course, it had not only helped him be able to go through with the punishment, it had also made him wholeheartedly enjoy Harry's pain. Cancelling the spell brought René back to his normal perspective. Well, almost: something would linger, sunk into his mind and his soul. A simple '_finite_' would not disentangle it. Therefore, releasing the curse did not make René sorry for his behaviour. What he had felt and done had been totally natural at the time. Subsequently, the memory of his feelings of malicious glee was one he could cherish.

René knew heought to have made do without. He could not afford too liberal a use of Dark Arts, not now that he had missed the yearly retreat he used to regain balance. The Arts could be seductive, addictive. After a certain point, his judgement would fail and he would no longer care, starting to use the Arts often and indiscriminately, descending swiftly, longing to reach the point of no return beyond which he would no longer be human. René could not allow that to happen; there were too many people dependent on him. '_I will never betray those who followed my lead, not like Lord Voldemort does. Besides, then Jan would be right and Harry would be better off on his own_.'

René reached under his shirt and pulled out a teardrop-shaped crystal pendulum. Less than half was filled with a sparkling substance, captured like liquid in what was still solid stone. Less then there had been, yet another cost of cursing himself. René judged that there was sufficient left for emergencies, but he really should not waste any more of the stored magic lest he need to remove the dampening crystals. They had been handy in keeping Harry's magic from lashing out, but René didn't feel comfortable without the ability to cast spells.

René reached for his pile of correspondence, a task he had been neglecting lately. The papers would provide a useful way to spend the rest of the afternoon, allowing the Hymarweddi's imprints some time to work their magic on Harry.

-o-o-o-

Harry felt stupid. Stupid for attacking the adult taking care of him, even if they didn't see eye to eye on most things. Stupid for not thinking things through: he now realised that if he had succeeded, he would have been saddled with a body. While he didn't know whether the Muggle police had ways to find the poison, and even if they believed it was a natural heart attack, he still would have no way to quickly contact the Order or to make it back to England on his own. It had finally dawned on him that he didn't know enough of Muggle public transportation or basic geography to plan a journey spacing several countries.

After sending Hedwig off to the Order with the hotel's business card and a hastily scribbled message on the back of it, Harry had lain down on his bed, trying to be as still as possible. Still the lashes the Hymarweddi had left on his back seemed to move on their own accord, giving off echoes of the whipping itself.

'_I don't even know where White stashed his money or where he hid my wand. Or my cloak, or my Firebolt. I would have gotten in so much trouble. Even if the police wouldn't have found me out, Jason would've_.' Harry was certain the man was quite shrewd. '_Jason might well have hunted me down to use me in some creepy voodoo ritual_.'

Harry twitched as two of the wounds snaking over his back met and produced a more vicious sting. '_I should really be more respectful towards White_.' The man was right about him not knowing his way around both the Muggle or Wizarding worlds. He had practically been locked up most his life. The Dursleys had prevented him from learning to function on his own in the Muggle world. They had not even allowed him to get a public library card, even though it was free of charge for children. '_And all I get to see of the Wizarding world is Hogwarts, save a few trips to Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley._'

Harry hissed. He pulled the sheet from his back; he did feel more uncomfortable being so exposed, but it just might make the lashes itch less.

It was suddenly clear to him how much he had missed out on. He couldn't believe he hadn't spotted it before. Part of his trouble deciding on a career was not knowing which careers were available and what their day-to-day work consisted of. The pamphlets that had been lying around in the common room hadn't been very helpful. They had been much too positive. Security Troll training had been made sound as an adventurous and rewarding job; having met a troll once, Harry knew they had left out the warnings of stink, violence and painful stupidity that would be the daily reality for anyone exposed to trolls.

'_Ow, is it just me or is it getting worse? Maybe I should go into the main room and ask Mr. White for healing salve_. _That would be like giving in, though_.' Of course, Harry realised now that he needed White. Harry frowned. '_…__I could use a__n adult who would teach me how things work in the Wizarding World. But it doesn't necessarily have to be White_.' However, White had been the only one willing to take the task so far. Willing and able, Harry amended, saluting Sirius's memory. '_Sirius would have been easy to respect_.'

"Ah!" Having the sheet off his back did help with the overall feeling of pain, but it didn't do anything for the random bursts of stronger pain. Of course, he would have respected his parents, too, had Voldemort not orphaned him. According to his dormmates, all parents had their own set of silly rules, shaming habits, and ridiculous opinions. He would probably have felt the same about his parents. '_I suppose me disagreeing with some of Mr. White's views shouldn't automatically mean I should disrespect him_.'

And so Harry's thoughts went on urged on by the markings left by the device the Celts had so aptly named you-will-behave. By the time White knocked on his door, Harry had himself convinced the man didn't only deserve his respect but had been completely correct in disciplining him.

He was glad, though, that the man had finally decided the ordeal had lasted long enough and had started applying Harry's salvation. Gently tracing the painful lines on Harry's back with fingers covered in healing ointment, until one by one they cease their wriggling.

Harry imagined he could feel them healing. '_My skin must be awfully battered. White is taking quite some time_.'

The man was finally satisfied and withdrew, probably after having found every little scratch, including those the labels of Harry's new shirts might have made. Harry sighed happily, utterly relaxed. He yawned. It was still early, but he might as well take a nap.

'_Dinner can wait a bit longer_,' Harry thought while he turned on his newly-healed back after the man had tucked him under the covers.

-o-o-o-

After releasing Harry from the grip of the Hymarweddi's magic, René had returned to his paperwork. During the afternoon, he had made a nice dent in it, which had him resolved to finish reading the rest before retiring for the night.

The first thing to come off the heap was an invitation sent by one of the Orn family of Scandinavia for an afternoon garden party, to celebrate the release of their new broom model 'Thunderbird.' René wasn't really into brooms himself, as the top-of-the-range models for Quidditch and Broomracing changed almost yearly; the only people who kept track of them were children and professionals.

'_Harry would probably love a few rounds and dives on the newest of the new; the anticipation would probably keep his mind occupied enough not to fret over the society part. If only I could trust him to behave in public_.' The visit to the Diablo's had gone well; however, this setting been well-ordered and René had counted on being able to keep the boy in his sight at all times. That had not gone as planned: the Don had somehow managed to speak with the boy unsupervised. Fortunately, nothing terrible seemed to have come from it. But a party, even if it was a small gathering, would not allow for such tactics. Not unless Harry put an effort into staying at his side at all times, and he could not trust the teen to do so. Resignedly, René put down the invitation and set to penning a polite refusal.

René eyed the waiting pile. There might be other invitations in it and if there were some in more convenient settings, they might be good places to give the teen some more social exposure. The season in the southern countries might be over, the summer having grown to hot for anything even slightly active, but in the North the gentle warmth of high summer needed to be celebrated. To Rene's regret, he found himself penning polite decline after pleasant refusal. '_It would be so good for Harry to mingle amongst Europe's best._'

René took up the next paper of the pile, finding it to be a report from Gringotts, written by the manager of the Potter accounts. It seemed Jason had succeeded in getting them to accept 'Blanche' as Mr. Potter's new guardian. René had been counting on that; he might not have dared to make any claims to the British ministry, not trusting them to op hold their own laws when it inconvenienced them, but the Goblins still revered magic. The contract with the Dursleys had been sufficient for them.

The papers themselves didn't give him much satisfaction. René supposed the situation wasn't as bad as it could have been after the Potter fortune had been left unmanaged for so many years, but the estate was definitely in worse state then he had hoped. The paperwork told a tale he well knew, that of a great pile of money earned long ago and since shrinking slowly but surely. In the Potters' case, the family had been living off their fortune for the last four generations, the gap between their expenses and their income growing a little bigger with each passing decade. Well, in the last dozen years the return on the still-active investments had more than covered the expenses, but withdrawals had been minimal. The biggest drain had been Hogwarts school fees and fines for underage magic needing Ministerial cover-up; almost no other costs seemed to have been made.

'_That is __strange. To properly raise a child like Harry, expenses should have been many times higher. Unless some one else paid for them.'_ Properly speaking, the boy's guardian –which probably had been Dumbledore, since Harry's parents had died and his Godfather had been imprisoned – ought to have shouldered the expenses. However, René was cynical enough not to take honour and good conduct for granted. In the tempting glow of gold, behaviour that went unsupervised tended to become less then proper very quickly. All expenses made for Harry could lawfully have been claimed against the vault. There were no claims at all for things like outings, clothing or upkeep in general. Which might have been covered by the general budget of the household Harry was staying in. However there were no claims for the salary of a nanny or even for the by-hour-fees for the non-residential tutors the middle classes employed to school their children. Given the state the boy's clothes had been in, it was far easier to believe that no more money had been spent on the boy than that claims were missing.

René turned a page revealing more figures telling the same story. The Potter family would need someone with a keen sense of business soon, or they would find themselves obliged to work for a wage, lest they'd join the unfortunates in Knockturn Alley. Having lived with Harry for almost two weeks, René was painfully aware that, as it was, the teen didn't know the first thing about managing his wealth.

'_I bet he doesn't even know the value of various common goods or how to negotiate prices._' Anger welled up within him. '_The old coot knows his school doesn't teach such things; how could he have failed to arrange for a summer tutor_?'

Thinking of Harry brought back the memory of soft skin under his fingers. Silkily soft, like rose pedals marred with angry welts where the lashes had hit. Red lines crisscrossing the boy's back like an obscene work of art, darkly beautiful in its depravity. René had taken much longer then necessary to apply the ointment; Harry didn't seem to have noticed. Thankfully.

He should really maintain more control over himself. It had been a trying year, requiring a much higher degree of dangerous magic than the quiet years after Voldemort's defeat had asked for. Maybe he should schedule a retreat, after he had built enough influence with Harry to leave the boy in a subordinate's care for a week or two. It would not do to take the teen with him; what use was the silence of a monastery to a fifteen year old?

In the meantime, he would just have to keep a close eye out for sudden alien urges, René told himself, recognising that his silly reactions were only caused by the contract's magic, which was searching for a way, any way, to get them in a close relationship. And the boy's mistrust was blocking all of the more appropriate venues at the moment.

'_Damn that Dumbledore.'_ Of course, René's current lack-of-exercise wasn't helping. Otherwise Jason's inane teasing would not have somehow taken hold in René's mind.

René closed the report on the Potter vaults, hiding it at the bottom of the pile. He flipped through to find something to occupy his thoughts. To keep them away from the young man sleeping at the other side of the wall, who some dark spells insisted on reminding him of.

'_Evacuation plans, revised for the eventuality of Voldemort causing an irrevocable breach of Secrecy. That should be sufficiently depressing.'_

It was more than depressing, for it made René rethink the wards on his home and question their sufficiency should the Muggles start to actively look for magical settlements. Some small adjustments might be prudent, René thought, while running the possible adaptations to the warding schemata through his head.

Unfortunately, to make the modifications hold, the wards would need a substantial boost to their power, something that he needed to solve somehow, for what could have more import than the safety of home? '_I should take Harry there; then, I would not have to restrain his movements so stringently._' When René thoughts returned to Harry, an idea crept into his consciousness. It would work, he knew. It would have a pleasant elegant effectiveness like cursing two Muggles with the same spell. Harry might not agree, but that would hardly matter.

But he had promised himself...and he was thinking about the ill-behaved teen again. Returning his attention to the stack of work in front of him, René picked up the next item on the pile. Just another hour or two of concentrated work and he would be done.

-o-o-o-

Drowning down his third Pepper-Up of the night, Kingsley cursed all Death Eaters. Not the kind of curse that used magic, though; only the kind which all humans use when they try to vent of some of their frustration. Kingsley would have preferred the other kind of curse - it would have had much more impact on the sodding reality of a long night's work.

Unlike his shift mates, for Kingsley this was the second night in a row he didn't get to see his bed. While he had expected to have enough time and energy to excel in Order business when he joined up with them, he was starting to regret it now. He didn't need a lot of sleep, but Rufus Scrimgeour, the head of the Aurors' Office knew that, too, and all over the Ministry, superiors were squeezing as much work as possible out of their subordinates. Not that this was making a lot of difference: things where still spiralling out of control at an alarming pace. At this rate, the situation would be as bad as it had been in the fall of 1981 before the year was out.

Kingsley and his team of colleagues had been running around all night, but they were never in time to stop the nastiness the Death Eaters caused. Not many killings, thank Merlin, but the raids seemed optimised to cause at much chaos and fear as possible. And it wore them out; a Ministry staff member being found asleep at his or her desk was becoming a normal occurrence and instead of being reprimanded as a slacker, the staff member in question would be well thought of.

Knowing it would not matter to his position whether the night was well-reported or not, Kingsley was considering falling asleep at his desk himself. Even if Scrimgeour would see through the act and a reprimand would follow to blemish Kingsley's spotless record, he wasn't making any kind of career here as long as Madam Bones was in charge anyway. Bones was an old Hufflepuff hag who believed in keeping excelling field operators in the field, instead of allowing them the promotion they deserved.

Kingsley liked the field work well enough, get your wand hand callused, but he wasn't planning on ending up like Mad-Eye Moody. Right now, that was where he was headed, unless he found himself a patron more powerful than her, which was the reason why he had joined the Order in the first place.

After a quick look to check that no one had spotted him and seen that his action was deliberate, Kingsley put his arms over his paper filled desk and lay his head down upon them. With a sigh, he closed his eyes; the catnap would help him to better fulfil his tasks for the Order. It was a reasonable choice to maximise the benefit to himself, since for a patron, you couldn't do better than the Supreme Mugwump himself. Not since the Flamels had 'gone on their next great adventure,' anyway.

_'They choose a nice time to go,'_ Kingsley thought sarcastically, trying to find a position that would not crick his neck so much. '_Just_ _before the crowds of the high season_.'

Luckily, tonight the only 'travellers' had been Muggles, which meant the bulk of the work had been for the Obliviators and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. So Kingsley slept on uninterrupted until a compassionate colleague woke him at the end of his shift.

-o-o-o-

"... and if Harry leaves the Hotel grounds, you go and warn Mr. Wilkommen directly," René finished his whispered instructions.

The elf's head was bobbing so fiercely that René feared its head might come loose, most likely because it believed a lot of vigour was needed to make up for not properly addressing its master. René shrugged; at least it was sensible enough not to make any sound, as he had warned against. _'The family __might be__ blessed with elves as shrewd as its human members, but they remain childlike in their enthusiasm_.' Even this one, whose hair was so grey it wasn't possible to tell the original colour anymore.

René drew himself up, having grown tired of his attention continuously drifting from his work. He was now determined to work off some of the stress stemming from the inherent conflict of being simultaneously influenced by incompatible spells.

'_Now, what was the location of that club Jason favoured?_' He mused while digging out the business card from deep in the drawer of his writing cabinet.

Having liberated the card, he set out. '_Un garçon, peut-être?_' echoed Jason's taunting voice in his head. René shook it to rid himself of the disturbing thought.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Author's Note:

Rufus Scrimgeour was head of the Auror Office before becoming Minister for Magic, which was mentioned in HBP to have happened in July 1996. For now, he is still Head of the Auror Department. Madame Bones is still head of the department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Accio Review!

(Don't make me wish to resort to using unforgivables; so tempting the dark arts are. )


	27. Cold Feet part 4

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Cold Feet  
**_**Part 4**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Author Note

This post might feel a bit fillery, since the good stuff happens in the last part of this chapter. I do not expect to have that finished before Christmas, so I posted this now. I hope to have the next post up before the year is out.  
Thanks for all the reviews! The most I got on a post since I started this. The signed ones have been answered by reply owl. FanFictionNet seems not to want writers to reply to reviews in the post itself and I am feeling like being a good girl at the moment – maybe it is the season. I really hope Santa will grand me that timeturner I wished for... time to write whenever I have inspiration; what gift could be better  
However I am very happy with any hinds that help me improve my writing. (Even if it doesn't show immediately.)  
Reading some of the reviews I feel I need to remind my readers that the wizarding world has split off from the Muggle one since 1692 and there really is no reason to expect them to adhere to our current social mores. Stories need some kind of conflict to be interesting. I have chosen cultural misunderstanding as one of the underlying conflicts of this one. Since Harry is closest to a 21st century reader in his opinions it is natural we side with him. (And Harry is not really typical since it is not normal for guardians to keep children in a cupboard and call them freaks.) However as a writer I do need to understand where my other characters are coming from to keep them consistent. This does not mean I agree with the social mores of the 17th century, the various 20th century wizarding mores developed from the 17th century ones or with any of the opinions held by my characters. I do not think children should be whipped (as some parents do according to the paper), nor do I think they should be soldiers ( as happens in some real countries today) or that 12 year old children should be married (as again seems to be morally fine according to some religions interpretations). I am just trying to write an interesting story about people living in an imperfect world.

As always this post has been made possible by my wonderful beta Amarine, all remaining mistakes and offences are solely my own.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It was dark and cold. He was in a graveyard and was lying on the frozen earth tied tightly up with what looked like that blasted lash of White's, but it might have been a normal rope. A few yards to his right he saw the gravestone he had been tied to on the day of the Third Task, when Voldemort had taken his blood. White was standing over him holding a silver knife, its hilt a milky white, as if carved from bone. He was chanting eerie, ancient-sounding phrases.

'_So_ _th__is __is__ enchanting,_' Harry realised. It was a bloodcurdling sound, nothing like the song that allowed for pole-travel. White's eyes became slits and his nose disappeared, his sun-kissed skin paling as he slowly changed into Voldemort. His bright blue eyes turning blood red completed the transformation. Voldemort kept the chant going, the sound fitting his high-pitched, inhuman voice much better.

The wizard brought the knife down and cut signs into Harry's skin. Harry fought not to give Voldemort-White the satisfaction of hearing him scream, but this hurt like hell. Harry would have struggled, but the cords binding him gave him no leave. As more and more marks were made, Harry started to feel numb and the slight chill of the air started to hurt his bones like they belonged to an old man suffering from arthritis.

His torturer's features were changing again: from his bald head grew brown, slightly curly hair, his nose grew back and the blood-coloured eyes turned a beautiful intense brown. Harry stared into those eyes, loosing himself in them.

Meanwhile, his breath had become more and more laboured; Harry knew he should care, but he could not call forth any strong feeling.

"You will not survive this, but I will finally live again," a now healthy-looking sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle declared.

"Thank you for your health and magic, Harry," the teenaged Dark Lord taunted without much effect, for Harry hardly heard him, lost in the cold and those dark chocolate eyes. '_So much __like the night sky, black and twinkling with stars.'_

"Your kind gift will not be wasted. I will use your power like you would have never dared." Voldemort's laugh was far away and the twinkling of the stars grew dimmer and dimmer.

The next moment Harry was a free man; floating on air. Then, light pooled into the night. He was in a bathroom now, safely home at Hogwarts.

"Oh, Harry, you finally came to live with me," Myrtle greeted him, moving towards him as if she intended to embrace him. Harry backed away from her until he hid behind the sink that carried Slytherin's mark.

"You can be my boyfriend. We'll be always together," Myrtle promised while floating nearer. Harry was afraid she would try to kiss him, but instead she frowned. "You cannot be a ghost, your magic is gone!"

"I can't help it, I was bound, he took my blood again," Harry defended himself.

But Myrtle was not about to change her mind and Harry's ghostly form was forcefully expelled from the castle. He fell though the veil and a Grim greeted him, licking his face.

Harry blinked. His bedside light had been turned on and White was dabbing his head with a wet cloth. It was weird to have this man acting like a concerned father, so different from the dark wizard in his dream. Somehow, Harry found the dream easier to believe. For why would anyone care about him without wanting something in return?

-o-o-o-

"Bad dream?" René asked the teen. Obviously it had been, given the way the boy had been tossing and was covered in a sheen of sweat. Getting him to talk would pull him out into the waking world quicker, though.

Harry only nodded; his mind still seemed distanced, no doubt still focussed on whatever horror the dream had contained.

"Tell me about it," he encouraged, but Harry vigorously shook his head. "It could help. Nightmares often reveal their absurdities when you try to capture them in words."

A flash of fear could be seen on the boy's face before he managed to school his expression. His lips remained pressed together in his determination not to reveal anything about the dream.

'_The dream was about me, then,_' René realised. Was that how the old fart was influencing Harry? Working with the dark things hidden deep in the boys psyche. With the fears, doubts, and insecurities that were hidden in every human being, triggering a natural self-defence response in the boy, urging him to get rid of the danger, to kill the enemy. And whatever proxy he had cast the spell on, so it would reach the boy, must have been intensely connected to the boy since the aborted poisoning attempt had apparently not broken the spell.

René stood up to fetch Harry a glass of water from the bathroom. It would help the boy relax and give him a little time to think.

_It could have been the boy's blood, in which case the desire to kill me runs through his veins and his heart beats with it. _That didn't look likely; Harry would have acted much sooner and chosen a method much more physical than poisoning. _The old man doesn't want Harry to be killed in a failed attempt, then._ That was a relief; if he managed to break the spell, the old coot wasn't likely to cast one on Harry that would drive him to suicide. The boy had no magical relatives, so the only other route strong enough would be using a connection to his magic. That would explain the boy's wavering, since the crystals would dampen the influence of the spell along with the boy's magic. _'Which tells me he doesn't consciously see me as an enemy. Or at least, not one that warrants killing.'_ Which was good news. However, it was also bad news, for if the spell kept influencing Harry and he kept trying to fight it, Harry'ssanity would suffer.

Turning off the tap and returning to Harry's bedroom with a full glass, René wondered whether the contract was influencing Harry too. If it was, it would be nudging the boy in yet another direction, which would puthis mind under even more strain.

"Thanks," murmured Harry when he took the proffered water. He didn't check it before he gulped it down. René would have chastised the boy over being so trusting had he accepted food or drink so easily from any one else. Now he just watched the revealing action with satisfaction. Ultimately, the teen didn't really**, **irrevocablymistrust him. If he only got rid of Dumbledore's influence on the boy, all would finally go as he willed.

Taking the emptied glass Harry handed him, René walked to the door. The teen hadcurled up under the covers, all calm again. René switchedoff the light.

René went out to the balcony. He had been drowsy and ready for bed when he had come back to the suite, but now he was wide awake again. The balcony provided him with a marvellous view over the lake; since it was past midnight, all he was seeing where tiny dots of light marking the roads and settlements around its shores and the dwellings higher up the mountains. Thefresh air allowed him to think, and here he could pace without further disturbing Harry's sleep.

And pace he did, before he finally acknowledged that there were only two ways to break Dumbledore's hold on Harry that he knew of, and binding Harry against killing him would render the boy unable to defend himself when confronted with a real threat. This left only one true option, albeit an infuriatingly dangerous one.

Resignedly, René stepped back inside. Harry would be needing a little push in the right direction so they could over come this hurdle without wasting any more time. However, this was not something he should be doing himself. Luckily, he knew just the man to call.

-o-o-o-

Tonks took a deep breath and stepped into the kitchen. "Mrs-Weasley-I-am-very-sorry-for-sticking-my-ever-changing-nose-into-Weasley-family-business-I-should-not-have-one-so-Please-will-you-accept-my-excuses?" she droned.

She didn't mean a word of it, but she was totally fed up with the cold treatment she was receiving for the woman. She would have been able to ignore it, were it not for the fact that the woman had quite a lot of influence on the daily happiness of the members of the Order. So Tonks was subjected to all kinds of snubs: the smallest portions at dinner, the burnt part of dessert, the teapot just about empty when it was your was treated as if she were some unwanted cousin, which, Tonks had to concede, was kind of humorous as the order was still using the Black house. On top of that, the pleased, plastered-on, extremely fake smiles that she had to endure.

And the rest of the family, while not actively aiding Molly, would do nothing to alleviate her suffering. Whether they were so used to Molly's way of showing discontent or whether they were to afraid to get the same treatment, Tonks couldn't say, but the whole situation strengthened her in her belief of the unhealthy atmosphere Molly created in that own family was far from perfect itself, especially her mother**,**but she'd accept about anything from family and would not exclude any member for having a different opinion then her.

Tonks wondered how long it would take Bill and Charlie to decide they were more valuable to the Order in their old jobs, and run from England and their overly domineering mother again. She had also decided to treat Percy a bit better; she had been giving the boy a cold shoulder for turning his back on his family, but she started to believe he deserved an Order of Merlin for not cursing them. He certainly had more reason for distancing himself from his mother than Sirius had ever had.

What stories her mother had shared with her about her aunt and uncle had been about a man obsessed with his work and a mother who should have been an opera singer - the dramatics couldn't be big enough for her. Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion had given their children all room to form their own opinions. Well, not all that much compared to hippy Muggles like her own dad, but still a lot of room compared to the normal hold traditional purebloods kept on their children. It was not like they would have allowed them to choose their own partners. However they would have been encouraged to make suggestions, something which was still considered very modern in their circles. According to her mother anyway. Tonks shuddered.

Thankfully, her mum had broken away from all that. However, come to think of it, her mother did ask an extraordinary amount of questions about her colleagues whenever she visited. She seemed to want to know just about everything about them, especially focussing on her unmarried male colleagues. '_Shit_.'

"You are moving back in with your parents," Molly said, not explicitly acknowledging the excuse.

"Dumbledore suggested I do so," she responded, knowing full well that Dumbledore could do no wrong in Molly's eyes. "For safety reasons. One of my aunts visited mother recently."

"Narcissa Malfoy lowered herself to acknowledge a _working_ woman as her sister?" Molly's astonishment was obvious. Molly also failed to hide her own distaste to married women holding jobs, and a freelance one at that, although Tonks guessed it was pity inMolly's case, not contempt like Mrs. Malfoy would feel.

"I hope. From something my dad said, I suspect the visitor might have been my other aunt; The acknowledged mad one."

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Molly whispered in fear, then she shook her head. "Surely not, she'd have murdered everyone in the house if she'd be able to get in. Your father would have come home to find the Dark Mark hovering over it."

That was what one would expect, but… "Mother maintains neither of her sisters would murder family."

Molly poured some of the hot chocolate that she had been brewing and handed Tonks a steaming mug while settling down with one of her own.

'_All forgiven and forgotten, now that there's some fresh new gossip to be had_,' Tonks thought, peeved at her parents being reduced to have-you-heard-what-happened-to-the-neighbours, but she gladly accepted the mug and the ceasing of hostilities that it symbolised.

"How can she possibly believe such a thing? After the vile woman killed poor Sirius," Molly tried to fan the fire.

'_Oh, right _now_ it's "poor Sirius," is it_?' Tonks bit her tongue; she was chatting with the woman after getting her to behave politely again. It was not a good moment give in to her temper. Tonks repeated her mother's words, "Mrs. Lestrange hit Sirius with a stunner. An overpowered one, yes. But still, only a stunner. We were on a battle field, there was chaos. Sirius might have fallen through the veil purely by accident. She could very well feel sorry for how things turned out."

Molly huffed, clearly liking the mad-murdering-aunt version better.

'_Charlie you might have an arse to die for, very agile big hands, and the sweetest impish grin on the whole northern hemisphere, but no sex can possibly be good enough to be worth living around your mother_._'_ Tonks sighed, pitying a lost opportunity.

"So, will you arrest her if she shows up again?" Molly asked, still hoping for some more juice to the tale.

"I am not going to provoke her, not if I am there without any backup," Tonks said, not wanting to imagine how her mother would react if she would dare insult a guest so, to try to arrest them while visiting. She kept that to herself though, since she didn't believe she would ever succeed in relaying to the likes of Molly Weasley how the mind of someone like her mother worked. She wasn't even so sure she really understood herself.

'_A nice position you manoeuvred yourself into now, girl_,' she thought to herself, '_spying for the Order on your Mother and spying for your Mother on the Order_.'

She bit her lip to remain from smiling as a very silly thought followed and she decided that she was definitely not sharing any understanding with Snape.

-o-o-o-

Half way through the second topic René wanted to discuss, Jason's rich laugh sounded through the receiver. "Honestly, René you knew that contract's reputation. And, yes, I know that the more horrifying a story is, the wider it travels and the longer it is remembered, and that it is thus totally probable that nothing interesting comes from it in the majority of cases the magic is invoked. Still, being offended by its magic trying to change you to suit its purposes is just plain silly. You sound like a child whining that he is afraid of the Dark."

"I am not whining; I was merely querying your knowledge about the workings of the psyche so as to inform myself in order to formulate possible options."

"Oh, was that what you where doing?" Jason answered between hiccups.

"Can I at least count on your help in resolving the other matter? Or is that beyond you too?" René asked, maybe a bit too tersely.

Jason took his time formulating an answer. At least, that was what René assumed he was doing. For all he knew, the man had put the telephone down and walked away.

"I would rather not try such a thing over the phone. I'll miss most of the non-verbal aspects of communication – which make up the biggest part. It would be easy to misinterpret exactly what effect my words have on your little fox, especially if he is still so jumpy. I had better come down there. I should be able to make it to Lausanne in little over a day," Jason finally answered.

"It needs to be done now! Before the pressure of the old coot's spell has a chance to build up again."

"This really should be done face to face. Using these techniques to influence someone takes a lot of finesse; it isn't like some spell where you just have to wave your wand about and recite some silly Latin words."

"You will simply have to listen a little more carefully," René insisted.

"You'll be the one at wand point if I overdo it," Jason warned, obviously peeved at being told how to do his job. René imagined he could hear him scowl. Since Jason's skills of observation where better then his, he felt the risk Jason warned him of was an affordable one. Likely, Jason would get just the reaction they discussed, even if he had to work through long-distance telephone.

"Speaking of skills of observation, that Malfoy kid is so blinded by his prejudices that he sees what he wants to see, even if the opposite is peeing in his mouth," Jason continued. "He is only useful as a secondary source of information – one needs to know enough of whatever he describes to filter out the dragon dung he invents."

That sounded just like a pampered pureblood heir to a rich and influential family, especially in Jason's uncultured reaction to it. The child would grow out of it given time, as many had done before him and many would do in the future. He only needed time. Unfortunately, considering the political situation in Britain, time was in rather short supply at the moment.

"His father's imprisonment will force him to grow up."

"Or die trying," Jason added, sounding sarcastic. "His lovely mother informed me, quite gleefully if you will, that that Dark Lord is very interested in who got to be the head of the Black family."

"Ah, yes, I heard something along those lines," René said.

"You did, did you?" Jason did not sound happy about it. "How about informing me? _Before_ sending me into Death Eater Central?"

"And spoil your appetite while dining at one of the most prestigious tables in Britain?"

"Sharing a table with such an annoying brat does that effectively enough," Jason grumbled.

René let Jason vent; the man was obviously exaggerating the facts concerning young Malfoy. Even if spoiled, Lucius would have made sure to properly cultivate his son for the future role as head of house Malfoy. Jason must have more reason to be so peeved; knowing Narcissa, she had not passed up an opportunity during Jason's visit to try to make him feel inferior due to his lack of ability with a wand. That was a huge part of why her husband had never achieved any formal political power, like a Wizengamot seat or a Head-of-Department: he made to many enemies because he, like his wife, liked showing off his superiority too much. People didn't like feeling inferior. They certainly didn't appreciate those who reminded them of their place beneath others, they would not confer such a person anything, leaving the likes of Malfoy to resort to bribery or blackmail when simple flattery or a polite 'please' would have done.

"She hinted that the Evil-Undying-One wants some object that he believes is part of the inheritance, or at least residing at some location of the family's estates. Happen to have heard something along the lines of what or why?" Jason challenged.

That information was new to him as well, so René could not illuminate Jason. After making some snide remarks about the effectiveness of René's information network and the dirty work he always got saddled with, Jason ended their conversation.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Dear Santa,

Please give me a timeturner for Christmas. I promise only to use it to write... well and dance and do the dishes; but nothing naughty.

If this cannot be, then how about a lot of reviews? And some pimping to reach other readers who might enjoy my story?

Please Santa, haven't I been a good girl (most of the time, during at least a few days this year.)

Thank you!

And have a Merry Christmas!


	28. Cold Feet part 5

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Cold Feet  
**_**Part 5**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Author's Note:

REPOSTED BECAUSE A PART HAD DISAPPEARED

(The part where Harry tries wandless magic.)

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The dream had returned in full force, making Harry believe he was sacrificed for his magic all over again. Only, the details differed this time: he was much older in this version, since apparently White had spent years training him, as the man was boasting that Harry's magic was dark and strong. Harry had let the man pet him while White presented him to Voldemort, explaining that Harry was no threat to them since he had him completely under thrall. Harry had smiled up at White, proud to have such a cunning master. Which, while disturbing to the extreme, was not enough to break out of the dream.

Then Harry was bound again, this time on the gravestone of Voldemort's Muggle father. No ropes were necessary this round, as some whispered spells had caused his arms and legs to sink slightly into the stone. White showed Voldemort the ceremonial knife. He explained it was made out of bones from Harry's mother, needed to render her protection useless. This was new, and Harry even found it somewhat interesting. He hoped, though, that his parents had been cremated, considering all the horrible things that magic could do with body parts.

Meanwhile, dream-Harry had started to become agitated, believing it was all fine for his wonderful master to kill him for his own benefit but not liking the idea that his magic was to be added to Voldemort's. If any should be receiving it, surely it should go to his master. He voiced his thoughts to the man, who was busy cutting runes all over Harry's body, which didn't hurt as much as it should have since Harry realised he was only dreaming it.

Both Harrys learned that it had not been an intelligent move to tell White he should take Dream-Harry's magic for himself when Voldemort gasped and make a move to stop the ritual. White looked on for a moment and then swiftly pushed his knife into the soft skin beneath Harry's chin. Feeling the life draining from him, Harry noticed his magic leaving through the knife, joining his master while exuberance filled his dream-self.

Harry was spared confronting Myrtle again because the phone on the bedside table woke him up. This was sufficient distraction for Harry to finally succeed in ripping his mind from the dream.

Could the Order be calling him? Had Hedwig arrived already?

Reaching out to take to phone from the hook, Harry glanced at the alarm clock. He couldn't make out the time precisely without his glasses on, but the first digit looked like a three. Were they hoping to talk to him without White noticing?

"Ha, Tommy. Pulled any birds yet?" came Jason's voice. Harry groaned. It was way too early to deal with him and he sounded way too awake.

"I take that as a 'no'?"

"Look, Jason, it is not that I don't like you calling but it's the middle of the night here."

"Is it? Oh, gosh, must be the time difference. I forgot." That sounded so obviously a lie that Harry snorted.

"You haven't pulled any birds at the moment either, have you?" he teased.

"No. Work," Jason sighed. "So how are you holding up?"

"I'm fine," Harry answered automatically.

"How boring," Jason drawled, making Harry laugh again. "You know you can _tell me what is bothering you_, don't you?"

"What does he want with me?" Harry asked the question that had been burning in his mind ever since White had forced him in his car. He hadn't asked anyone; White wouldn't have given him a straight answer at best, but most likely would have used the opportunity to manipulate him. And who else could he have asked, since who could know the inner workings of White's twisted brain? But now that Jason brought it up, Harry just had to ask.

"René? Does it matter what he wants? _Tell me_, have you made up your mind about _what you want_? Only if you know your own goals can you judge to see if other people help you or hinder you."

"I don't know what I want. Merlin, I'm not even sixteen yet. I have years to decide. But I want to decide for myself."

Jason didn't respond. The line remained silent from his side as if he was waiting for more to come.

"It doesn't matter what I want in the long run. I want to make my own decisions now! I hate being kept out of the loop because I'm too young to understand and I hate that others make my decisions for me. Especially White, since I don't even know what his aims are."

"To get what you want, you grab it and run," Jason told him. "René wouldn't let you leave as long as he's alive. So I say, grab a knife and stab him good."

"Are you telling me too kill him?" Harry asked, astonished. "Aren't you friends?"

"Pah!" Jason answered. "Didn't you just say you wanted to make your own decisions? I wouldn't dare tell you what to do."

Harry snorted. "Ah, so you're advising me?"

Harry could swear he heard Jason grin, even though that was not a sound.

"You aren't worried that your cousin will end up six feet under because of your advice?"

"No. I'm not worried. You're free to follow it or not," Jason said. "Besides, I don't think you have the balls to really do it, anyway. You're all bark and no bite."

Harry felt anger bubbling up inside him, but before he could put in words just how angry Jason's casual dismissal of his resolve made him, the man continued, "After you've freed yourself of René, what would you do?"

"Kill Voldemort, of course!"

"And you're sure you can become a murderer when you have him at wand point?" admonished Jason, keeping his voice carefully plain.

"I am. I'll have to!"

"Ah, yes, _fortitude_! The universal solve-all of the naïve," Jason mocked. "What else could you need to enable you to kill him?"

Harry didn't know; he had prepared himself as best as he could by becoming the top student in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but he had realised that that was not going to be enough to vanquish the Dark Lord, even before he had seen him and Dumbledore duelling in the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic. He had just hoped 'the power he knows not' would hurry up revealing itself. So Harry decided to remain silent and see how Jason might answer his own question.

Unfortunately, Jason knew this trick and instead needled Harry some more. "Killing a Dark Lord isn't something school prepares you for, is it? But, of course, your precious Dumbledore and his merry men are preparing you privately to the very best of their abilities so you can be the hero they need. And survive it."

Harry pressed his lips together, unwilling to share his frustrations about being kept from everything. _'Apart from sharing with me what they know about Voldemort's plans, they could have given me some extra defence training,_' Harry realised._ 'We were cooped up in Grimmauld Place for a month and Aurors were popping in and out. Order members were at Privet Drive 24/7 before; they'd be able to guard me just as well if they'd talked with me. They could have taught me some things, even if I couldn't practise the magic. No, that's not true. If they were supervising, I could have done magic. I bet the ferret has his own private duelling instructor available every summer._'

"Yes, they are," Harry replied to Jason, lying. "But White's keeping me from them."

"They're preparing you to be able to kill?" Jason said, the scepticism dripping from his voice. "I see. So after you survive your confrontation with the Evil-Undying-One, freeing yourself from the threat he poses to your life with graceful ease, what do you want to do then?"

Harry shrugged. He had wanted to be an Auror, but that dream had been shattered back when Dumbledore hired Snape as a Potions instructor. _'Quidditch, maybe. I could play for England. Defeat Krum at the next World Cup._' Harry kind of liked that option: people would laud him for something he actually did himself, something he'd worked for, instead of making him a hero because his mother died and some stupid prophesy.

"You haven't the foggiest idea, do you?" Jason's suddenly harsh voice interrupted Harry's pleasant daydream, hauling him back from his trophy round in some international Quidditch stadium to his room in White's hotel suite, replacing the cheering crowds with a dark room lit only by the lights from the city shining through the half-open curtains and Jason's voice over long-distance through the telephone.

"I just want to decide myself. Not be told. By anybody!" Harry vented the anger that had coiled up earlier and now suddenly sparked again. '_How dare the man ask such questions; couldn't he see that I can't think about such things now? It will only distract me.' _

"You want to be absolutely free? Why not get someone to keep your personality under Fidelius, take on a new name, and go live off your inheritance on some tropical island?"

"My personality under Fidelius? Is that possible?"

"Definitely."

'_Surely not. Dumbledore would have used that to hide me, instead of putting me with the Dursleys_.'

"Cheerio! Fox-boy." Jason had ended the phone call. "Don't forget to have fun when you _kill René_."

That had Harry confident the man was crazy, but harmlessly so. Still, that Jason, like most adults, didn't take him seriously was rather annoying.

Harry dung out the dream-catcher, figuring it was most likely harmless and it most certainly had kept the nightmares away. He was getting rather sick of them, especially now that his subconscious had seemed to run out of ideas and had started featuring reruns.

Harry had snuggled under the covers again; dreaming about Quidditch would be nice. '_I can play for England, winning us the World Cup by snatching the snitch just before the opposing seeker – Victor Krum, of course – can.' _

Harry did fall asleep and got to win the World Cup. Unfortunately it was a short match and within an hour he was wide awake again. It was too early to rise. Looking around for something to occupy him until it was breakfast time, Harry came across the newspaper he nicked from the Klaassens.

He had tried to read it a few times before, but it was rather tedious going since the paper was in Latin, titled 'Temporis Magus Nobis.' From the headings on the pages, most of them consisting of a single county name, Harry surmised it was distributed over more than one country. Even figuring out the publishing date had been an undertaking. After puzzling over it longer than he wanted to, Harry had finally understood the news to be printed on the first full moon after midsummer in the year 304. So the news paper was either very old, or his Latin was as bad as he feared. The last full moon had been the night after Jason had taken him to the beach, so Harry assumed that the paper had been current on the very next day, which would have been Tuesday, July 2nd.

This meant that the news it contained was over a week old already. Harry shrugged. If nothing else, trying to read it might be helpful for falling asleep, so Harry opened the paper on the section dealing with the International Confederation of Wizards. Which must be about the dullest subject the paper could cover.

Apparently, there had been a meeting recently. When Harry's eye fell on Dumbledore's name, his interest awakened in earnest. From what he could decipher from the Latin; Dumbledore had been reinstated as a British representative. He had also tried to assume his old position as Supreme Mugwump; however, the Confederation had awarded this position to another when it was vacated. Harry gathered that this position in the confederation was not bound to a country but rather was an individual title. According to the paper, the Indian witch who held it now didn't feel she should give it up 'just because those English suddenly decided he isn't senile after all.' It was unfair to Dumbledore of course, but it wouldn't matter much in the war at hand. What did matter was that Dumbledore's request for Aurors and hit-wizards from neighboring countries to help the fight against Voldemort was voted out. Those foreign wizards and witches seemed to think Voldemort wasn't their problem.

'_Bumbling fools_.' Harry almost wished they'd find out the painful way, but that would mean Voldemort would have to conquer Britain first.

After finding noting more of interest in the ICW section, Harry dutifully turned to reading the news on the page labeled Britain. From that section, he learned that the Wizengamot was rumored to be discussing a replacement for minister Fudge. Harry was glad that the idiot would finally be dumped. But he also conjectured that since the Wizengamot was to install a replacement, there would be no general elections and he'd wondered how they thought to get away with that. Was it because it was in the middle of a term? How long were the Wizengamot and Minister of Magic terms supposed to be? How old did he have to be to be allowed to vote? Or be a candidate? Not for Minister of course, that was a dreadful job, but for the Wizengamot?

If he couldn't be an Auror capturing dark wizards, Harry mused, he might be a judge making sure they were put away properly. Making sure that the guilty ones like Malfoy didn't slither and bribe their way out of Azkaban and the innocents like Sirius would get a proper trial. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more Harry liked the option. Instead of working for a corrupt Ministry, he could be correcting it. Not upholding the law whether it made sense or not – like Umbridge's educational decrees – but creating fair laws. It was a possibility that grew on him and that he should discus with McGonagall. For a start, Harry had decided to ask White about the electoral system of Wizarding Britain later; it would be a good topic to divert the man when he was in one of his difficult moods again.

The third item Harry read was truly alarming – something had happened to the Brockdale Bridge; Harry hadn't been quite clear on what exactly. The 'Death Eater Movement,' as the paper called it, had 'risked exposing their world during one of their increasingly dangerous actions to draw attention to their concerns for the future of Wizarding Britain.' The article went on to further blame the Ministry for 'failing to contain these actions of protest' and for 'closing their ranks to a concerned minority' instead of 'engaging in open dialogue' with them. Harry was more shocked by the paper suggesting they should talk with the Death Eaters than he was by the Death Eaters having launched an attack on the heart of Muggle London in broad daylight. The latter was to be expected now that the fact of Voldemort's return was out in the open. If this paper's view reflected the mainstream opinion of the rest of Europe, there would be little help forthcoming to assist the Ministry in fighting Voldemort and his cohorts.

Well, judging from the date, the ICW meeting had been on the same day as the attack on the Brockdale Bridge. So maybe those ICW mugwumps held a different opinion already. '_Figures,_' Harry thought. '_Voldemort must have waited for Dumbledore to be away at the meeting_.'

That same lazy Monday that he and Jason had been loitering on the beach – when White had suddenly needed to be elsewhere and didn't want Harry with him. '_Suddenly needed to be elsewhere_.' Harry's heart skipped a beat. '_Where I could not come with him_.' He shuddered. '_Surely not to London to join the Death Eater ball at the Brockdale Bridge?'_

That White had been gone the same day that Voldemort had made a grand attack on London didn't _have_ to be connected, Harry thought, trying to calm himself. On the other hand, it _was_ circumstantial evidence, just like the fact that the wizard always wore long sleeves even in the hot summer weather.

Harry was unable to concentrate on anything else now and knew for certain he would not be able to fall asleep again. So he put the hotel provided bath gown over his pajama bottoms, and wandered out of his room. He went through the suite's main room and opened the French doors to the balcony, hoping the fresh outside air would help him think.

He was leaning against the rail, looking out over the lake. The night sky was showing signs of approving dawn already, the dark mountain peaks standing in silhouette against the slightly lighter sky. The other side of the lake was still only visible by the streetlights.

Harry started listing what he knew of White.

One, the man by his own word considered Dumbledore his enemy.

Two, White was a Dark wizard; he didn't even try to hide it. He didn't seem to hold much respect for Voldemort, though, which counted against him being a Death Eater. However, Harry's dreams seemed to be warning him that if the man wasn't in league with Voldemort, than that was only because he was plotting to take the position of Dark Lord for himself. Of course, dreams could be tricky – Harry had learned this at great cost only a few weeks back. He didn't believe Voldemort was sending him his current nightmares, though. Voldemort couldn't even know he was with White. If Voldemort knew, they would have been attacked already. Unless White was a Death Eater, but then Voldemort would not be sending him those dreams. Unless White wasn't a Death Eater, but Voldemort somehow knew White had abducted him anyway. Snape could have told him. Snape was an unredeemed bastard whatever Dumbledore said, and he could just as easily be Voldemort's spy in the Order instead of the Order's spy amongst the Death Eaters. Maybe Voldemort was trying to get him to kill White so the wards would fall and Voldemort could reach him.

Harry rubbed his head. His scar was quiet. But his thoughts where giving him a headache, running in circles as they were. Maybe he should take the approach Jason had advised: start with what he wanted for himself.

Harry didn't really have an answer to that question. Or rather, he had multiple answers that contradicted each other. Some part of him _did_ want to kill White; it didn't matter how or even why. He guessed that he just was more of an instinctual rather than a reasonable type of person. Like how he did what needed to be done on the spur of the moment instead of endlessly preparing for every eventuality like Hermione was wont to do. Still, the urge to kill was disturbing since Harry clearly remembered his horror at learning he had to become a murderer in order to live past Voldemort.

Strange as it sounded, some other part within him wanted White to be happy with him. It was really odd the way he had instantly felt some kind of kinship towards the man when they'd met. Maybe it was because White was a wizard and somehow Harry had picked up on that?

Maybe it was because White seemed to really care about him, instead of about the Boy Who Lived, one-of-the-students, or James-and-Lily's-son. Although, if he had to believe Mr. Diablo, this wasn't at all the case. White might have been watching him like a hawk all the time during their visit, hovering in his vicinity whenever possible; however, he had managed to escape the man's attention for a while and talk with Mr. Diablo without being overheard. He'd hoped that Mr. Diablo would answer some of his questions about White that others were sidestepping all the time, since White had been so clear they were opportunistic allies at best. The main question he wished answered was, predictably, White's reasons for being so interested in him.

It hadn't worked. It had only won him a sermon on today's youth taking up Muggle vices like individualism. Used to being told off for thinking the world was all about him, even by people who could know better, Harry had let himself be chastised. Also, talking back to a Mafia Don in his own house seemed like a bad idea. If he had learned anything in defense last year, it was to not expect people in power to react reasonably. Better to not let them know you disagree; it would get you into less trouble. Not attracting suspicion would make it loads easier to sneak around behind their back doing what was needed anyway – not something Umbridge would have wanted him to learn, which made it all the more satisfying to think that she had taught it to them.

Politely listening to the sermon, Harry learned that the Don believed White had taken an interest in his well-being because he was 'the last offspring of the Potters,' 'the godson of a Black,' and 'Dumbledore's favorite puppet.' The first two made no sense, since Harry knew of no connection between either the Blacks or his own family and White. The remark about being Dumbledore's puppet had stung, especially since he now knew Dumbledore's involvement with him was only because of the prophesy naming him as Voldemort's vanquisher. Without that, Harry knew he would have been nothing special to the headmaster – just another student.

However if the Don was to be believed, he was nothing special to White, either; just a means of 'tribute, atonement, and revenge.' A weird combination that didn't tell him anything useful.

Harry shrugged and forced his mind back to the question that needed answering first: What did he really want, himself?

He wanted to be back in Hogwarts for his sixth year, but not so he could study to be an Auror. He was already resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be an Auror, though, not unless Snape decided to lower his standards for admission to his NEWT level classes. '_Or if Voldemort kills him,' _Harry thought; one could always hope.

Still, he would find some other job. Be it to do with law or Quidditch or something else entirely; it didn't really matter as long as he was part of the Wizarding world. Even if he'd spent little time in it except for school, he definitely felt more at home in the Wizarding world than in the Muggle one.

Did it really matter if he finished his education in Hogwarts or elsewhere? he asked himself next.

Yes, it did; his friends where there. His parents had studied there. He knew the school, he liked it there. Put simply, Hogwarts was his home.

If he wished to return to Hogwarts, he needed to rid himself of White. Dumbledore's wards would not let him leave unless White was dead first.

Of course, he could also wait for the Order to find him. He had sent Hedwig with a card from the hotel and a scribble requesting help. Although, now that he thought about it, he hadn't been all too informative on it. The Order would know enough to find him, but he wouldn't come across as competently taking care of himself. If he waited for the Order to rescue him, it would basically mean he needed them to – which would give them reason to keep him out of things, as if he was some silly, snotty little child instead of the one destined to win them the war. If he solved this himself, got back to London himself, he would show he was just as capable as any of them. Then they would no longer have any valid reason not to let him into the Order and join the fight.

So he had to kill White. He didn't really want to, but there wasn't an option. They were at war; it was inescapable that people would die. But White hadn't really done anything bad enough to deserve to die, at least not so far as Harry knew. '_If only he would just have had the sense to keep to his own business'._ Well, Harry needed to know he could kill, anyway – he couldn't very well get cold feet while dueling Voldemort. Casting Expelliarmus as he had done at the graveyard wasn't going to cut it. At least, in a twisted kind of way, White's death would be useful.

Harry stayed on the balcony for about half an hour longer, plotting how to accomplish his goal.

Then he went back inside. He tiptoed to the drawer where he knew White kept his Glock. Harry would aim and pull the trigger the moment White stepped out of his bedroom this morning, leaving him no time to have those pesky second thoughts. People would hear, but Harry planned to tell them that they had prepared to go to the shooting range and the gun at accidentally gone off while White was packing it. Very tragic. Mr. Wilkommen would have to let Harry decide where to go himself, since there would be nobody be there to take care of him. '_Or to pay the hotel's bills'_. Harry could then pack everything from the suite, which would include his wand, broom and cloak. Wherever White had been hiding them. He could also take White's Muggle money; the man wouldn't need it anymore and Harry could use for the trip.

He planned to travel by night, flying on his broom, using the map of Western Europe from one of the books White had bought him at the zoo to find the way home. During the day, he could hide under the cloak and get some sleep.

First, though, he had to open the drawer. Picking the lock didn't work, making Harry wish he still had Sirius' knife. Checking the time – at least an hour until White would start his shower – Harry set out to try and open the lock by magic. He didn't have a wand, but he had done magic without a wand before. Accidental magic before he was eleven and summoning his wand in the Dementor attack last summer. Wandlessly casting 'alohomora,' a first year spell, should be easy.

Frustratingly, wandless magic didn't seem to work when you actually wanted it to. At least, that was what Harry had to conclude half an hour later. Nothing had happened at all. Harry's concentration had broken a few times because he'd heard a tinkling noise, like glass breaking. For a moment, Harry feared he somehow had magically broken the windows, but it must have been elsewhere in the hotel, for all the windows and glassware where still pristine.

Harry resorted to ordering breakfast really early again. The room service lady on morning-duty, who brought it in wished her fellow early riser a cheery good day. After she had left again, Harry moved the cabinet from its place against the wall slowly, gently shoving it, trying to make as little noise as possible. Then he took the butter knife from the breakfast table and set to work on the screws holding the cabinet's back panel in place. It was just cheap cardboard. Apparently the hotel didn't bother with poshness where it wouldn't be seen. The panel came loose to reveal the backsides of the cabinet's three drawers.

Harry remembered the Glock was kept in the lower one and a few minutes later he lifted the back part of this drawer and finally could lay his hands on the case with the gun and the case with the bullets.

'_White really should have been more sincere about that rule to store gun and ammunition separately,_ 'Harry thought while loading the weapon.

He put everything back in place neatly, not wanting to risk White noticing anything was off too early.

The whole exercise had been well timed. Harry was innocently eating his breakfast, already dressed, when he heard the water running in White's bathroom.

He stood up and placed himself a few steps from the man's door, gun in hand, ready to shoot. Waiting for White to open the door and step to his doom. Harry found he had to push down some distracting thoughts, like that the man had treated him quite decently the last few days. To help himself to focus on the task before him, Harry recalled all the nasty incidents: the lashings, White talking down at him, and such, allowing the memories to fuel him with hate. Doing so made him feel a bit uncomfortable, but Harry quickly squashed that feeling too.

The door handle when down. Harry lifted the Glock. The door opened showing White in the opening. Harry pointed at the man's chest as he had been told to do by said man himself. Instantly, White's happy-morning look faltered. Harry's hands shook, the gun becoming sweaty. After a few moments of silence White said, "Are you going to shoot me, Tommy?"

_Merlin's beard, he's dumb enough to taunt me _now_._ Harry thought, but still couldn't quite get himself to shoot the man. Somehow, actually killing someone was a lot harder when that person stood living and breathing before you than it was imaging it. _I can't give in now; he knows now that I planned for it. He'll be furious._

"More difficult then you thought, isn't it?" While grinned at him "You'd better give me the weapon then. You might hurt yourself."

White hold out his hand for Harry to place the weapon in. Harry, however, wasn't going to give in. Somehow White's words had given him the resolution he needed.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself. White turned his hand as if to ward of the bullet. Harry closed his eyes and at that same moment pulled the trigger.

Harry felt the kickback in his arms and the smell of gunpowder and smoke in his nostrils. He had closed his eyes. He should be opening them put the Glock in White's hands and prepare to pretend panic. Or maybe that would not be necessary. Harry thought. The Glock hadn't been loud, and the room was well-insulated; the well-to-do customers wouldn't want to be able to follow the neighbors' having an argument.

Harry realized he was fleeing into his thoughts. He couldn't allow himself to do that, not at a moment like this. He forced himself to think about the situation at hand, returning his attention to what he had just done.

He had really done it! His heart soared. Really shot the man who was frustrating him in cold blood! Blood was rushing in his ears, obscuring all sound. Harry still had his eyes closed savoring the glorious feeling of might, of power, of freedom. No one messed with him!

Smiling from ear to ear, profoundly happy with himself, Harry opened his eyes so he could see White lying dead at his feet. He had to be dead at such a short range; Harry could not have possibly missed. Besides, if the man had been wounded he would have made some noise. Or stupefied Harry or something. Harry had been standing lost in his feelings with the smoking gun for long enough for the man to react had he somehow survived. So when Harry opened his eyes, he expected nothing less than a body pouring crimson blood on the crème carpet.

He did not suspect the man still standing, albeit looking a bit pale but not otherwise frazzled.

"Oh fuck!" Harry whispered, believing he was done for now. Given how angry White had been when he had planned to poison the man, now that he actually had followed through… '_I'm done for. The only thing worse than confessing a murder plan at the last moment is seeing it through and failing.'_

Astonished, Harry's eyes met White's, who was still standing in the door opening, smiling broadly back at him, understandingly – approvingly, even.

'_How could he have lived_?'

White must have understood Harry's unvoiced question, since he slowly opened his right fist, the arm he had stretched out when he had seen Harry pointing the gun at him.

'_Had he caught the bullet? Could anyone be that fast?_'

"Wandless translocation. I took the bullet form the barrel before you pulled the trigger," White explained.

Harry should feel fear. He probably was in more serious trouble now then when he had aborted the poisoning attempt. But he didn't. He only felt euphoria. So the man wasn't dead. Big deal. He, Harry, had still pulled the trigger, had still had the guts to kill. This had changed him, whether it had worked or not. Harry felt it buried in his bones, flowing with his blood and he reveled in the change. Harry shamelessly welcomed this new, improved version of himself. Delighting in the feelings overflowing in him.

"So," Harry said challengingly.

"Now. We negotiate," White answered.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Accio review!


	29. Negotiations part 1

**For The Greater Good**  
**_The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters_**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Trust Matters  
_Part 1_**

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Dear Reader,

Before accusing me of character bashing, please consider that there are always two sides to a story and that it is not uncommon for people to try to sell their own side of said story as the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Cheers for my beta Amarine who ensured that the text beneath is comprehensible.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Negotiate?" Harry parroted. "Why would we negotiate now?"

He was still holding the Glock. He'd loaded it fully, so there where shots left a plenty. Plenty to challenge White until eventually he failed to catch the bullet.

"You were a merely a child before; one does not negotiate with children."

"And suddenly I'm no longer a child? Because I'm holding the weapon now?" Harry retorted.

"Because you are willing to defend your own interests, like a man should."

"I'm going home," Harry replied, lifting the gun again.

White backed away from him into the doorframe. Was that fear in his eyes? Yes, it was. Harry hold still to savoured being feared for a heartbeat. Then he pulled the trigger again.

No kickback.

No smoke.

No boom.

Harry frowned. He turned the barrel towards him to look inside it, wondering what hindered the bullet from being fired. White leapt at him and gripped his wrist, forcing his hand to turn changing the direction of the barrel, so it no longer pointed at either of them.

"Never aim a loaded gun at yourself," White said in urgent worry, while he wrought the weapon form Harry's grip.

Harry nodded. Reciting the rule about not pointing the gun at someone was how all their lessons had started. It might go off accidentally. You might maim or kill someone.

White started to unload the Glock; however, no bullets came out. Harry frowned. White had only caught the one bullet he had fired; where had the rest disappeared to?

"Let's sit down," White suggested, making his way to the table where Harry had been eating breakfast. White still looked very shaken and was a bit unsteady, Harry noted.

"To negotiate?" Surely, White would change his tune now, now that he had the upper hand again. The wonderful feeling the power rush had brought on drained away and it was with trepidation that Harry followed White to the breakfast table.

'_I am going to hate breakfast time before I get out of this mess_,' Harry thought, staring down at his half-empty plate while White poured him a fresh cup of tea. Harry watched in silence as the man continued to butter his toast, sample his cappuccino and choose which marmalade he favoured today.

"I believe congratulations are in order," White broke their silence smugly.

"Congratulations? For failing to kill you?"

"For seeing it through," White explained. "I am obviously extremely content with you failing. Purely personal, of course. But even if it was not, I can't possibly fault you for failing, not on your first real try."

Harry blinked. The man was bonkers!

"You want me to try a second time then?" Harry challenged. "Or maybe you're proposing to teach me how to plot murder?"

"Delightedly," White happily conceded. "Provided you don't use my council to try to take my life again."

Harry glared at him. The man must have recognised he wasn't sincerely asking to be instructed in crime.

White smirked. "Were you not burning with desire to take revenge against against the Dark Lord?"

"I _need_ to kill him," Harry corrected. "I can't afford to fail."

"So stop trying to leave and allow me to teach you."

Harry bit back an instinctive refusal. It sounded like an honest offer and he would need to get it right the first time against Voldemort. However... "What's in it for you?""Good question," White praised. "Despite living across the Channel and not being opposed to the use of darker magic, I would prefer the Dark Lord dead sooner rather than later. Nevertheless, I will not risk openly opposing him myself."

'_Coward._' Why was the world filled with people who would gladly hang back and let him solve their problems? However, White was the first one to actually offer to prepare him. Even the Order had not done so, keeping him safely tucked away until... Until he was an adult and still not ready to face the much more powerful and vastly more experienced dark wizard, whom he was suppose to vanquish. Voldemort would kill him as soon as his fabled luck run out, finishing what he had started the night he had killed his parents.

"What if I would rather Dumbledore prepared me?" Harry asked, hiding his doubts about Dumbledore's tactics.

White snorted derisively. "You should not depend on him. Not if you want to have a life to live afterwards."

"You really hate him, don't you? Why?" Harry asked, remembering what Don Diablo had said about revenge and suddenly wondering whether the Don had meant White wanted revenge against Dumbledore or Voldemort.

"Yes, I hate him. All the same, my reasons for this are not relevant to our current discussion," White replied, suddenly very terse.

"I think not. I think that since Dumbledore looks out for me, the cause of your hostility towards him would go a long way in explaining why you abducted me."

"So he looks out for you, does he?" White challenged

Harry pushed down his dissatisfaction with Dumbledore and said in a firm voice, "Don't try to change the subject. You either tell me your reasons or we won't negotiate!" Harry was bluffing. What could he do if the man refused? Stopping their 'negotiations' would mean that things stayed as they had been. With him at White's mercy, never knowing whether the day would bring pleasant outings, dull lessons, or undeserved pain.

"It is a rather long story," White said.

'_He is still__ trying to get out of telling me,'_ Harry thought. '_It _must_ be quite revealing._'

"Is it?" he reacted. "Well, I do have a train to catch. So you better be brief and finish before the first of September."

White grinned at Harry's cheek. Harry didn't want to risk losing the momentum and continued to look straight into the man's eyes, willing him to finally spill.

"Very well," White gave in. "The whole quagmire started with the declaration of a prophecy."

-o-o-o-

Severus made his way up to Dumbledore's office for their scheduled 'chat.' Having been interrupted from pleasant, solitary quietness, he was in a bad mood. He loathed having to part from his summer reading spot in Hogwarts' rose gardens – in the shade, of course; too much sun could hurt the tender old parchment of the tomes, and then Madame Pince would have his hide to repair them with.

He had little enough time to indulge himself in whatever holiday pleasure that might strike his fancy; keeping both his masters pleased with him was an involving task.

'_How nice would it be to blow of some steam cursing the werewolf_,' he thought, seeing the beast approaching him in the hallway, coming back from his own 'chat' in the Headmaster's office. Unfortunately, while he was at liberty to curse away in the castle, Dumbledore was bound to find out and he would disapprove. So Severus settled for a sneer; hopefully the beast would get the message and ignore him. His other master would undoubtedly send him to assist during one of the Death Eater raids sooner or later, providing him with a venue for his violent cravings.

"Severus, any news from Harry?" The beast just would not be trained out of calling him by his given name.

The beast was too far off to see his sneer, proving that there was no substance to the myth that weres had better sight than humans. Or perhaps the wolf had seen, but that 'Marauder spirit' had insisted on walking right into the danger. Severus' sneer deepened into a growl.

"Yes, I have," he allowed, relishing it when he saw Lupin's worn face lighted up.

Severus continued, going for the kill, "I miss all the little dunderheads so much during the long, quiet summer that I keep regular correspondence with the most irritating ones. "

Severus savoured the way Lupin's face fell. Teasing the beast was a nice pastime, better than pestering the rat. Lonely-Friendless-Pettigrew was even more pathetic than Last-Marauder-Lupin. Nothing was as good as goading the Mutt had been. The mutt, being dead, was now beyond reach of his revenge, just as Potter was. Black had not even left a child he could use as a proxy. Considering his whorish ways, the dog must have focussed all the caution available to him to manage that.

'_No lovelier 'prank' then raising hope only to crush it,_' Severus thought.

"I meant, in your capacity as..." Lupin started, but his one brain cell caught up with him before he could name Snape a spy. "...Well, some old friends might have mentioned something," Lupin finished lamely.

"I assure you, Lupin, anything I hear in my capacity as 'old friend' I share with the Headmaster."

Lupin flinched, bright enough to have caught on to the not-so-subtle reminder of how he himself had kept silent about his old friend Sirius' animagus ability when the school had been threatened by the insane Azkaban escape.

Severus cut the werewolf off before he could make another asinine remark. "Didn't Dumbledore mention anything in your chat with him, Lupin? What, does he not trust you, perhaps?"

'_The Headmaster probably does tell Lupin more than is prudent_,' Severus thought while he takes he rode the escalating stairs up to the old man's office... Severus snorted. '_He probably tells his innermost thoughts to the fireball, too; he probably believes his pets incapable of betraying him.'_

However enjoyable it may have been, upsetting Lupin had not been a good tactic. His Lord wanted to know about the mutt's last will and testament, and the werewolf was one of the few people he might have discussed it with. Severus had already failed to pry it out of Dumbledore; the Headmaster had not-so-subtlety hinted that he expected his spy to focus on information about Harry's whereabouts and the identity and affiliations of Mr. White. The Headmaster could not conceive that the Dark Lord would not try to get hold of Harry. So either the Dark Lord must have someone trying to find them, or White must already be working for him.

While he had not found the palest hint that his Lord was doing either, Severus still could not find fault with that reasoning. It was inconceivable that his Lord would not try to seize the opportunity to lay hands on the boy. Unless his Lord knew something about White that the Order didn't, this gave him reason to be unconcerned. The Dark Lord insisted Severus should spend all his waking moments making merry with his fellow Phoenixes. First, to find out whom the Mutt had named his main heir and what items had been left to which other people. Second, what Dumbledore's reasons for arranging the execution of the will to be stalled, for the Dark Lord believed Dumbledore was behind the 'contested validity' status the will had according to the Ministry's records, stating – much to Belatrix's chagrin - that while Sirius had chosen to side with blood-traitors and Muggle-lovers, he was by no means unintelligent and therefore would have made certain not to write anything in the will that might jeopardise its validity.

So Severus was at a stalemate, unless Dumbledore could deduct what 'key' the Black estate held and share the information with him. Were they capable of identifying the item, the Order would of course endeavour to keep it out of the Dark Lord's reach. But with the way Sirius and Molly had waged war at the house, it might have vanished with the garbage ages ago. Unless the unknown thing looked expensive, in which case Fletcher would have carried it off.

Standing in front of the heavy door that separated him from his other overlord, Severus carefully buried his worries in the past. The item would not be found without a little more intelligence on what they should be searching for, and Lupin would not have told him about the will anyway.

'_Maybe I can get someone else to pry it out of him instead. A pity the Gryffindor know-it-all wasn't at head quarters_.' She would have been ideal for the job: sensible enough to pick the correct approach to get the werewolf talking and naïve enough to be manipulated into sleuthing '_for the greater good'_.

-o-o-o-

"It was the day Perenelle Flamel officially pensioned from her position as Grant Warlock of the Wizengamot. Just before the current Minister of Magic was about to give a speech on her retirement party, one of the witches suddenly went rigid and started to speak in a low eerie voice. I was told she was quite young and unrenowned letting some people believe she was just vying for attention. She spouted something nonsensical about a lion born from the stars which, or who, would lead wizardkind into an era of darkness, about loss of hope, plays for power, and other such unpleasant things. Obviously because no one could make neither heads nor tails of it, and because it was stated at such an auspicious time, it had to be a prophesy. Speculation about what it could mean and how it should be stopped continued for months, even years in some of the more excitable circles. Public opinion held that it had to be stopped from being fulfilled, since it sounded so ominous. Never mind that prophesies always sound ominous."

Harry interrupted, stating his belief that it might not have been a bad idea to prevent entering an era of darkness.

White huffed. "So you would have supported the motion of closing Gryffindor house and re-Sorting all its students?"

"What!"

"Gryffindors have been known as 'lions' since the dawn of Hogwarts. Some people believed that the lion of the prophesy indicated a Gryffindor and that closing the house would dissuade the prophesy by means of having the main character therein diverted from his or her path at a young age."

Harry had to concede that such measures were overreacting. He was appalled when White told him that for the next dozen years or so, the number of students sitting below his beloved red and gold banner had dwindled, making the house smaller by half than the other houses. Having been the object of suspicion himself during second year, he could imagine how the Gryffindors would have been treated by the rest of the school. Like they were slimy Slytherins, who would turn dark at the blink of an eye.

"As with all such things, speculation and gossip silenced after time, people turning to other things grapping their interest. But not everyone forgot. Every once in a while, someone would accuse another of being the Lion, leading all wizardfolk into darkness. Sometimes a panic would breakout; once or twice a political career was broken for it. But as time went by, the prophesy was less and less real for people – time, as well as distance tends to have that effect – and was less and less effective in discrediting opponents."

White stopped to take a shuddering breath.

"Dumbledore had not forgotten, though. He has a long memory, and ever since having outdone Grindelwald, he believes himself a hero and the guardian of all that is bright and good. For some reason, he decided the prophesy fit a child from my family. With entirely good intentions - to protect the child against himself as well as to protect the world from darkness, no doubt - he stole the child from us and groomed him as one of his lackeys. But then…circumstances…somehow…" White faltered, before stopping altogether. The man pressed his lips together and looked at some point next to Harry's right shoulder, eyes unfocussed.

"… anyway, Dumbledore leapt to conclusions and decided that he had failed. He abandoned the child he had stolen, alone, bereft of family, bereft of even friends," White continued after having pulled himself together again.

"No!" Harry exclaimed, unable to believe Dumbledore would do such a thing.

White waved Harry's denial away. "He most certainly did. Oh, he claims the child wanted to leave of his own account, implying that his parent had turned their child against themselves."

"What happened to the child?" Harry asked in the grip of White's story. "Did you find him?"

"The family tried to reach him; we had never given up trying to get him back after Dumbledore took him. But, alas, we failed."

"You haven't found him?" Harry urged. "You're still searching," he half-asked, half-stated.

White bit his lip. "I failed. He is gone. There isn't even a body to burry."

"That's dreadful." Harry was at a loss for words; White was obviously still very shaken about the whole thing. What did you say in such a situation? 'Condolences' seemed so formal and chilling. "I'm sorry," Harry whispered.

Harry had a hard time believing such a thing of Dumbledore. On the one hand, he knew of White's dislike for Dumbledore – the man would certainly think the worst of his motives and actions. On the other hand, if there was truth to his story, White had a hell of a good reason for his aversion. White seemed convinced of what he had related; he was uncommonly emotional, his fists were clenched, lifting from the arms of the chair his hands had been resting on. He did sound sincere, but Harry knew he could act like a movie star going for president. As Harry knew first hand, Dumbledore could be kind of careless about important details, like relatives not actually relating to you. It was the way his voice had broken during the telling and the fact that his eyes had gone all moist that tipped the scale towards White. For now, Harry would believe White was at least telling the truth as he saw it. He was curious about Dumbledore's angle on what had transpired.

While he wasn't all too sure Dumbledore's decisions would work out well, he did believe the man made them in good faith. White, however, had clearly never forgiven Dumbledore for his interference and the unhappy results and now hated the man.

"But why take me, why not an actual relative of Dumbledore's?" Harry assumed that Dumbledore had relatives that White might have chosen from; he didn't know any, but most people had them.

White shrugged. "The Potter family looked out for the child, fed him, clothed him. For a while, at least."

"So you're returning the favor?" Harry snorted. "Where were you all those years I spent being hated by the Dursleys? I'd have been glad to have been collected by you then."

"Had I known you had been placed in their care, I would surely have done so. To trust you into the care of Muggles, an outrageous thing to do."

"So in what way did You-Know-Who wrong you?" Harry asked next.

"Whatever makes you think he did?" asked White, looking perplexed at Harry's sudden question.

"You hate Dumbledore, but you profess to oppose his arch-nemesis all the same."

White nodded. "Insightful question, Harry. I would love to take my revenge on Dumbledore, and the British Dark Lord would seem to be a means to that. Unfortunately, while Dumbledore is a wound from the past. The British Dark Lord is a threat to the future."

Harry frowned, trying to work out what White could mean by that. "So you believe he'll attack the rest of Europe as soon as he's taken over Britain?"

"I do not know. He concentrated his efforts on Britain last time. His strategy is not that of a conqueror, though. He seems to value making trouble and spreading terror above establishing a firm power base. The danger he represents – in my opinion – is largely the possibility that the Muggles learn about magic. He would never need to leave Britain to endanger our communities worldwide. Someone taking such a risk, without reason to it, I could never support."

"But you're not opposing him, either," Harry challenged.

White sneered. "Whyever should I; doesn't Britain have the defeater of the great wizard Grindelwald?"

"So you took me because of a prophesy?" Harry wisely ignored the dig at Dumbledore.

"I do not believe the Lion-Star prophesy refers to you. You being a Gryffindor is insufficient."

"Not that one, I meant the one about You Know Who and me, of course."

"There is a prophesy about you and him? Interesting," White said. "Tricky things, though, prophesies."

'_Had he truly not known_?' Harry thought. '_Or is he pretending again_?'

"Aren't you going to ask what it says?"

"Why should I? If I need to know, it's enough for it to be fulfilled, then at the proper time it will ensure to be revealed to me."

"You believe prophesies always come true, then?" Harry asked.

"Naturally they do. Either of their own account, or because people try to stop them from doing so, usually breaking more then they mend in the meanwhile. However, prophesies only make sense after they have been fulfilled; one might as well ignore them."

Harry snorted. "You tell that to You Know Who!"

"He knows the one about the two of you?" White asked.

"Only the first half."

"Ah. The part he needed to know to act on to help it's fulfillment along," White said sagely.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Accio Review!


	30. Negotiations part 2

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Negotiations  
**_**Part 2**_

Special thanks to Amarine, who made this comprehensible; all remaining confusion is my own.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Peter landed on the knees of a man sitting down for a dump. He whisked out his wand and cast an Oblivate, too quickly and too uncoordinatedly. His victim would suffer a horrible hangover tomorrow, or so he would think. Café loos were not a safe Apparition point, but it was the best Peter could come up with. He would walk out of the café and not shift into rat form until the last shadowy corner near the hotel. Rat feet travelled less quickly than human ones, and his human form was as easily overlooked as his rat one – and caused less screaming if someone did notice him.

The Second Rising, as the Death Eaters were encouraged to call it, had only truly begun a few weeks ago, and already Peter felt dead tired. Part of it was due to the long distance Apparition, which he lacked the strength to do. Technically it wasn't Apparition, the way they travelled to and from their master by use of the Dark Mark, one of his compatriots had once explained him. Apparition wasn't possible over large bodies of water. Maybe their Marks had a portkey built in. Peter didn't care; he knew advanced magical theory was beyond him. All he knew was that it was just as exhausting as Apparition would be.

On the upside, their Lord had not even acknowledged his existence today, which meant he hadn't been found wanting and had made it though the meeting without pain. It had been a big one, full of ceremony to impress the new recruits who were given their task to prove their worth before being allowed the Mark. Their chests had been puffed up proudly and their eyes had been shinning, alight with the knowledge of being part of something, to contribute their talents to make the world a better place. Watching them, Peter's old longing to live in a simple black and white world himself, had sparked up again. To be so certain in your knowledge that the end you fought for justified all means. To be able to so blindly follow one's heart. Peter would give up his sight for it.

Having changed into his rat form, Peter hid in some bushes facing the hotel's entrance. He didn't dare to go inside; the Muggles running the place seemed to have something against rats, and one of the trees had become home to an owl that had a particular liking for rat meat. However, being anywhere around the place in human form was out of the question. Peter was only lucky he'd spotted White's elf before the creature had seen him. That same day, he'd learned about the hotel personnel's prejudice towards rats.

He needed to figure out how White fit into the picture. Unfortunately, the man was very hard to spy on, the way he used sudden and unusual ways to travel around. The little interaction between White and Harry that Peter had glimpsed, didn't give him a clear direction. The man was as amiable as an older brother when they were out in public, indulging Harry's every whim, kindling Peter's jealousy of Harry's easy life. So many people looked out for the boy, pampering him, while being a Potter meant that Harry already had all the money and privileges he needed. On the other hand, he had been in the hallway when White took it upon himself to teach the boy, who was used to getting away with doing as he pleased, the consequences of provoking authority. Treating him like any other child behaving so disrespectfully towards an elder would have been treated. Making liberal use of the instrument most feared by wizarding children.

Peter's worst childhood memories were tied to that thing. His mother had been too kind-hearted to use it. But his grandfather would take it in hand, whenever he believed Peter had gone too far and needed a fatherly influence. He had been mild-mannered as a small boy, but staying in James and Sirius' circle at Hogwarts had demanded a lot of misbehaviour. He had been caught often enough each year for McGonagall to write home. He usually managed not to let things go too badly between summer and Christmas, but the second half of the year was just too long. So the first visit from his grandfather during summer holidays was not something he'd looked forward to. Not being friends with James and Sirius, while having to share a dorm with them, though, would have been far, far worse.

Still, doling out more than a handful of lashes told of a sadistic streak in White, which made Peter fear that the man would be the Dark Lord's servant soon, if he weren't already. This made him despair, for if Harry fell into his Lord's, hands all would be lost. So he stayed near, hoping to learn more of White's alliances, hoping he had the guts to do what was needed should the situation arise.

It was lucky his Lord had sent him to find Karkaroff; otherwise, he would never have had the time for this self-assigned task. Really lucky, for following a possible lead to Karkaroff was what had lead him to White and Harry in the first place.

-o-o-o-

"What was that about?" Tonks asked Molly when Dung rushed out of the kitchen as soon as she entered. As far as she knew, she and Dung got along fine.

"Professor Snape caught him stealing," Molly answered looking over her shoulder as she continued directing various knives and spoons, which where processing raw food into whatever would be for dinner this evening. "He tried to sneak a bag full of loot out of the house. I think the professor succeeded in putting the fear of the law into the petty thief. For as long as it lasts, anyway."

Tonks snorted. "So what did Snape do to him?"

"Nothing improper. Professor Snape just made Mundungus put the various items back where he found them, while watching over his shoulder to see that he didn't sneak anything off again," Molly answered, her attention on the dinner preparations again.

"Poor Dung got detention," Tonks laughed. "Well, better then Snape taking the loot from him and selling it himself."

"Oh, nonsense," Molly chided. "The professor wouldn't do that. Dung is the criminal around here. One is quite enough. Pity we can't report him to the Ministry. It's not good for the children to see Dung getting away with those things."

"Oh, you mean they might get ideas," Tonks said. '_Great. Now Dung is avoiding me because I'm a great big, scary Auror; one less fun person to talk to around this gloomy place_.' She said, perhaps a bit sharply, "You do know that until we get Sirius' will though the red tape, we're all breaking and entering?"

Her tone earned her a half-smile from Remus, who had just come in to grab some tea and looked about as worn as she felt. '_From worrying about Harry probably, not from working double shifts_.'

"Why does it take so long, anyway?" Molly asked her. Tonks had no clue, but she was often perceived as all-knowing about Ministry proceedings and the status of individual dossiers just by the fact that she worked there.

"Dumbledore didn't say, but I guess Harry needs to sign something," Remus answered in her stead.

"Do you think he left this place to Harry?" Tonks asked him.

"Who else?" Molly said. "It is not as if he has any children of his own to leave it to; he never had time to build a family."

'_Technically_,' Tonks thought, '_that isn't true – there's my mum and me and Mrs. Malfoy and her little blond brat.'_ She didn't say so, though. It was plain that Sirius would have willed the estate to Harry before them. He should have been able to do so; without a direct heir, the boy was eligible due to his paternal grandmother having been a Black. Being Sirius' godson was a great help, too.

She settled near Remus, intending to question him about his progress with the translation of the contract. It would keep Molly away, since she insisted on ignoring the existence of such vile things. Remus gave her another half-smile; he still got the I-am-angry-with-you-but-you-are-too-old-for-a-sound-spanking treatment from Molly, and the poor guy had to actually live here.

To her surprise, they had barely started their conversation when Molly broke in.

"Honestly, Remus, you're a decent sort! However could you have lent yourself to such an unholy idea?" Molly's voice had a sharp edge to it. Had she been a witness in one of her cases, Tonks' Auror training would have made her classify the sound as an indication of near-hysterical worry. Not unlike a mother would be acting if one of her children were missing. That is, according to her handbooks; Tonks couldn't see her own mother showing such emotion over her, not unless it served to manipulate people to do her bidding in some crucial way.

She heard Remus taking a deep breath and he looked up to meet Molly's eyes squarely, explaining the spell he and Sirius had chosen and their reasons for doing so yet again. He sounded patient rather than resigned or defensive. '_No wonder the children liked him as a professor so much,'_ Tonks thought, _'he's a natural'_.

"So, the spell you and Sirius selected is only alike in that the child's parents sign a contract to officially allow someone else to be the child's guardian for a few years? And the new guardian helps the child find his path in life and is bound to foster to the child's wellbeing in any way he can? None of this Dark stuff? A bit like a normal apprenticeship?" Molly asked, sounding hopeful. She had abandoned her preparations for the time being and had settled in a chair on Remus' other side.

"Yes." Remus nodded looking relieved: "But without the focus on a specific skill. Like a mix between a godfather and an apprentice master would be a very good way to see it."

"And Sirius planned to use it to get Harry away from that awful family of his?" Molly asked, having calmed down, seeming to finally accept the plot for what it was: a way to help Harry.

"He believed Harry wasn't really safe there, that wards or no wards, the Dursleys might very well hand him over to the first Death Eater to come calling."

'_Oops, wrong thing to say, Remus,_' Tonks thought, seeing panic appearing in Molly's features again.

"And they would have! They did! Just sold him!" Molly wailed dropping her head in her hands. "Poor, poor boy!"

"Shh, now, crying is going to do no good." Tonks had stood up and was patting Molly on her back, feeling ever so awkward.

"That man and those Muggles! They belong in Azbaban if anyone does!" Molly yelled, briefly lifting her head as if she was appealing to the heavens to fulfill her claim before dropping her head again and continuing her sobbing.

Tonks had dropped her hand, and stood next to Molly, not knowing how to hold herself, feeling lame. She hated it when people broke down; she felt their appeal for help strongly, but when there was nothing she could go and do to solve the problem and the only option was to try to calm them down by talking, she always chose the wrong thing to say. "We don't know whether this 'White' is a Death Eater. The instruments Dumbledore has monitoring Harry indicate he is fine."

"Did he give you more details?" Remus asked; Dumbledore must not have told him much more then he said in Order meetings.

Well, as an honorary uncle, the man _was_ Harry's closest living relative. Tonks wasn't going to include the Dursleys; she agreed with Molly on that count. She still could scarcely wrap her mind around the scornful disregard they had shown for their nephew's wellbeing, when she and Kingsley had finally found them. She had even snuck back a few days later to check them for hexes; she had been perplexed not finding any.

Finding that there wasn't any magical reason behind their behavior, that their feelings toward Harry were all their own. Tonks feared it had built up over years, slowly getting worse and worse. She didn't understand how mere Muggles had managed to fool her colleagues in child services. Especially since they didn't even try to keep up appearances for her and Kingsley. Their low opinion of both Harry and anyone else involved with magic had been worn like a badge of honor, even though she and Kingsley had announced themselves as ministry Aurors, all official, even showing the aunt their 'tattoos' displaying the sign of the Goddess Aurora, the indisputable mark of an Auror worldwide.

The ministry's office on Family Matters kept all their records closed; otherwise, proud old-blooded families would be even less inclined to let them near. The files concerning the Boy Who Lived would be nigh impossible to get her hands on, unless she made a case that he was missing and that might further endanger the boy. '_It shouldn't be too difficult to mimic one of the staff, though,'_ Tonks decided.

Remus was still looking at her hopefully and Molly's tearstained face had joined him in the effort.

"Dumbledore told me the same as he did everyone," Tonks started, trying to divert them, but seeing the shadows creeping back in Remus eyes, she sighed and gave them the full truth. "I recognized some of the instruments from Auror training and Phineas told me which ones are linked to Harry. I try to meet Dumbledore in his office whenever I can to steal a peek at them. Don't tell him though!"

"Of course not!" Molly huffed."Now tell me. How is Harry, really?"

"Overall, he seems better than he was when he was with the Dursleys. Healthier and better rested. However, he still has fits of extreme anger and the instruments display an undercurrent of worry and sadness."

Remus nodded. "He had bouts of anger during last summer when he stayed here, more so than the average teenager. But his life is hardly average, so it doesn't have to be due to You Know Who's influence, like Dumbledore fears."

"I'd say he's less gloomy now," Tonks ventured, quickly talking over the subject of the great baddie, hoping that Molly wouldn't go into hysterics again.

Remus frowned. "How can that be? With Sirius dying in front of his eyes, I would expect him to be worse, not better. Are you saying that this 'White' is actually good for him?"

Molly rounded on Remus before Tonks could even shake her head to deny that. "That is the most preposterous, silly thing I ever heard. Of course that man is not good for him! How can you even consider such a ridiculous thing? The man is a dark wizard, and he practically owns poor Harry."

"It's not like that; the wizard can't just do whatever he wants. By the contract, Harry has protections, too. Whatever White's character or his aims, the man is bound to provide for Harry to the best of his abilities. Unlike the Dursleys," Remus said in his calm schoolmaster's voice.

This didn't convince Molly. "So he'll dress Harry in silk and feed him honey. That isn't the same as treating him decently, not in my book."

"Within the contracts terms, Harry can easily put restrictions on White's behavior towards him," Remus said.

'_That's good to hear,'_ Tonks thought, but then she realized that if she hadn't known about such contracts at all, let alone what might or might not be written in the clauses... "Does Harry know that?" she challenged Remus.

The way he winced told her enough. "It isn't covered at Hogwarts. It used to be – in defense class between OWLs and summer holiday, when I was a student. It was no longer there when I returned as a teacher. According to Dumbledore, he had been forced to pull the subject from the curriculum due to parental pressure."

"So Harry has no idea what he's into, as per usual," she concluded, feeling resigned.

Remus answered, something about White might have told Harry. Which he could believe if it made him happy, but sounded like the last thing an abductor would do in her opinion. She tuned him out, being more interested in the awesome shade of cherry red Molly's face had gone. She idly wondered if she would be able to copy the effect.

-o-o-o-

"Lady Malfoy, so good of you to invite me," Jason greeted the woman from the doorway, undeterred by the insult of not being invited in and the terse summons that he had answered by coming here. "My charming company agreed with you despite your earlier misgivings? I am so delighted."

"The head of my house should know that he puts the better part of the family in jeopardy by refusing to come forward," Cissa said snidely. "Unfortunately, I need to get through your thick scull first, before my words reach whomever has the abysmal taste to have you as a messenger owl."

"Why, you are all peeved – you didn't like finding that the Black vaults are still closed to you? Whyever – you do not need them, do you? Are the Malfoy vaults not deep enough to cover your predilections? Was not your lamentingly not-dead husband spreading it around like he had his own private philosopher's stone?"

Lady Malfoy huffed. Quite undignified; it almost made him escape the flush on her face and her quickly-corrected slump. _Discomfort? Over money? __Interesting!_

"You know perfectly well what I am talking about! Unless you are nothing more than an awkwardly trained pet to our head of house?"

"Woe is me. Nothing more than a post owl and unable to tap into my Animagus skills and spread my wings," Jason said, pouting.

"A dirty squib like you can only hope to be useful enough to warrant some protection. But if our head of house remains this foolish, then soon he will not be able to protect his own skin, let alone anyone else of his blood, deserving or not."

Jason nodded. "I think this covers the bantering. And you getting all riled up. It turns you on, doesn't it, a man not treating you as anyone special? Oh, what a beautiful glare – you don't fool me, though. I can see your nipples through your robes."

Lady Malfoy's hand flew to her breast, covering the heavy cloth of the robes. The moment she noticed that nothing could be seen even if it _had_ been there, underneath the unrevealing fabric, her glare turned harsher.

"No scenes, please. Let's skip to the part where you finally tell me what's up," Jason said.

Her lips twisted into a nasty smile. "The Dark Lord has been trying to contact the head of the Black House. He knows whoever it is received his messages. He is astonished about Lord Black's lack of manners."

"Does that mean being ignored turns him on, too?"

"I know you went to Gringotts - a nobody, but for representing Lord Black - and you were granted access to the Potter accounts," Lady Malfoy said, with a calm that told Jason she knew exactly what game she was playing and had played such games often and with pleasure.

"So we are back talking about money. You must be quite tight on it," Jason said, deciding to take his teasing a little further, needing the time to come up with damage control for this alarming development. "You must be new to this game, if you believe I am going to hand you anything before being invited in."

Lady Malfoy understood and was duly insulted. She slapped him on the cheek, summoned a wind that blew him backwards from her doorstep and slammed the door.

Jason stood up and brushed off his clothes. Standing with his back to the door to admire the pearly white peacocks that strutted through the garden staying just out of casting range. He smiled in triumph when he heard the door opening behind him.

"My dear cousin, why do you not follow me to the back patio to have tea and make light conversation to further our acquaintance?" Lady Malfoy said in a sugary-sweet voice. Jason knew it approximately translated to "I have you by the balls and you know it, even if you hide behind your bravado. So I put up with your façade, because I still need to twist you a bit to gain what I want from you.'

Jason answered with a mocking half-bow, after which he followed her around the house to the back patio where he knew a house elf was quickly settling a tea table right this moment. Cissa had turned her back on him and didn't acknowledge him during their walk, which was kind of her; most women were less liberal at handing out such nice opportunities to admire their backsides. Gosh he loved her, nice body, scheming nature, and witty mind. The way she had deftly avoided inviting him into the house after his insinuation, promised an engaging 'light conversation' over tea.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Accio review!


	31. Negotiations part 3

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Negotiations  
**_**Part 3**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

As a special favour to those who reviewed (Ichihime, D.E. Alexander, Estrella, Epholge, LoireLoa,PrincessLillia and StevanInVienna) and were asking for the part about Harry and White, I managed to get this done before leaving on holiday. I'll be back at Easter, writing the next chapter will take meabout a week, provided I can get back into the story quickly.

Cookies to Amarine my ever faithful beta.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"So back to our negotiations… What are you offering?" Harry pressed on. The man's face had grown paler during their earlier conversation; he truly did seem a bit off-balance, which Harry recognized as a possible advantage he could use. He felt quite guilty for using someone's emotional distress against them; however, he felt he needed all advantage he could to even things out. Besides, if he were the one in turmoil, White would have certainly made full use of it.

"You wish to avenge your parent's murder? As I said, I am offering to instruct you in all you need to learn to obtain that goal."

Harry thought about that for a moment. "I need to learn as much about Defense Against the Dark Arts as possible, and I need to practice dueling."

"I concede you need to learn to take better care of yourself, to prevent magic being used against you, though I would not constrict this to only the darker magics. But why are you so insistent on learning how to duel? I thought Quidditch was your sport."

"I need it to destroy the Dark Lord," Harry explained tiredly.

"Destroy? Literally?"

"Does that matter in any way?" Harry challenged.

"Of course it matters. Destroying someone can be done in very many different ways, apart from beating him in a duel to the death. And in his case, one of the alternatives is more likely to succeed."

Harry pondered this for a moment. He had never really believed he would be able to defeat Voldemort in a one-on-one duel. This had driven him to learn as much as he could. But any hope he might be able to learn enough in time had been crushed when he had watched Dumbledore and Voldemort duel in the Ministry a few weeks ago. He hadn't acknowledge it to himself, but in hindsight, the near conviction that all he was headed to was a martyr's death was a big reason in why he had welcomed the leisurely holiday time that White provided. He felt tremendously guilty about it, but he just didn't want to spent what might be his last summer locked up in the mausoleum at Grimmauld Place. He felt justified in seeing something of the world before he died trying to save it. But if there were other ways to rid said world of the menace of Voldemort…

"Literally – 'vanquish,' " Harry said grimly. He didn't care how dishonorable a method White might come up with, if it increased his changes of vanquishing and living.

"So stay and let me help you identify your options."

Harry considered that. It was definitely better than what was waiting for him with the Order. There, he would have only the books that survived the purging of the Black library, and adults watching over his shoulder to ensure that he didn't learn anything offensive. Basically, they would keep him from learning anything useful.

"For a start, I want my wand back," Harry said. No doubt White would have some terms of his own. Harry didn't imagine he would like them, but he could put up with them if it meant bettering his chances against Voldemort. He wasn't planning to give in to White's wishes easily, though, and he would make sure to get as much out of it as he could. So before White could answer he added his broom and his cloak to the bargain.

White, of course, disagreed. "You will have them when you need them; I will keep them safe in the meanwhile."

"You just said we were meeting like adults and now you're treating me like a child again," Harry said.

"You sound rather like a whiny little boy to me at the moment."

"So what? Even if I was a toddler throwing a tantrum, you're not my guardian. So keeping my things from me makes you nothing but a thief."

White seemed surprised rather than offended. "Harry, I am your guardian."

"Because the Dursleys sold me out? No way I'm going to believe some random stranger can suddenly become my guardian, just like that."

"I resent being called _'some random stranger_,_'_ Harry. As your nearest relative, I am entitled to be shown rather more respect," White said, sounding genuinely offended.

"I have no wizarding relatives. My mother was a muggleborn and father was an only child," Harry said. "If there had been any relatives with half a claim to me, I wouldn't have been placed with the Dursleys."

"All wizards and witches are related somehow; ours is but a small community. But we are close family before distant."

"Right, by that reasoning, You-Know-Who is a long lost cousin of mine, too," Harry scoffed. "Why, he might even be a closer one that you are."

Shaking his head, White answered in his lecturing tone, "Blood is the strongest of family bonds, but not the only one. Since your aunt signed this contract, we are as close as can be but for blood."

While trying to make sense of that, a horrible thought crept into Harry's mind. "We're not married!" he blurted out.

White frowned at Harry's outburst. "Is there anything left of Hogwarts' once-renowned education? Of course we are not married; how could we possibly be? We are both male."

Harry felt tension he hadn't noticed he'd had slide from his shoulders at White's rebuttal. Of course the idea had been ridiculous; the magical world was not that different from the Muggle one. "So, did you adopt me, then?" Harry asked.

That was much more likely. He both hoped and feared that that might be so. The second-best fantasy he'd had while staring into the dark in his cupboard under the stairs, just a bit less glorious than "the long-lost relative who came to take him away," had been finding someone who would somehow like him well enough to make them their child. Instead of an unwanted nephew. But the idea of White having parental authority over him made him shudder. Not that the man didn't behave as though he had such rights already, but Harry preferred to believe it was only a delusion on White's part, not something with any credit to it.

"_True _adoption can only be done with a blood ritual, which would not be just, since I would be stealing you from the Potter family. I do not believe there is an equivalent in Muggle contemporary culture that could help explain how we are related. And even if there were, it might even only cause confusion. Like a child's magic-anchor is often equalized with a godparent, but while they might have a common role superficially, the position is not equal at all. As an anchor is considered almost equal to a parent; he might even overrule their decisions in some instances – not as close as the birth parents, but closer than an uncle would be."

While speaking, White had taken out his wand, about 12 inches and pale colored, rosewood Harry guessed. '_What was it they said about people with rosewood wands?' _

'_Rowan gossips, chestnut drownes,  
Ash is stubborn, hazel moans,  
Oak protects, Birch enforces,  
Rose might charm you, but has thorns_.' (1)

Well, White certainly validated that one. White was now twirling his wand while he waited for Harry to speak, as if to drive it home that he had his and Harry didn't. Harry found that impossible to ignore.

"So are you going to give me back my wand or not?" Harry brought their discussion back to the point at hand.

For a second, it seemed like White was happy with Harry's question. _Strange. He wouldn't want me to get my wand back, would he? Unless he sees it as a "looking out for myself as an adult would" kind of thing._

"If you will promise not to use it against me, or against anyone under my protection or whom I have allied myself with, unless, of course, you feel the need to defend yourself against any of them."

"Do you have many people under your protection?" Harry asked, hoping for some insight in how far and where this man's tentacles reached.

"Quite," White said. "All the hotel personnel, for instance."

"What? You own the hotel? That's why Mr. Klaassen isn't getting anything done – he's not been even trying, is he? I bet he ran straight to you!"

White raised an eyebrow; if anything, he looked amused. "I do not own the hotel. I do have an arrangement with the management, though, for our mutual benefit. My benefit is that I have the use of this apartment, and theirs…well, magic can accomplish things normally out of their reach."

_Great, they know about magic, and I've been lying to Mr. Klaassen to keep it a secret._

"That doesn't explain the behavior of the staff towards me," Harry said, remembering the way they'd kept an eye on him after he'd spoken to Mr. Klaassen. White looked somewhat fleetingly guilty, so Harry pressed on, "Well, what is your _arrangement _with the staff concerning me?"

"I told them your father had died in the Gulf War and your mother had taken…ah…ill…from grief. She stays at a private clinic, and therefore you are staying with me, your uncle, over the school holidays."

"And," Harry prompted, certain there was more to it, considering the guilty look.

"And you are unable to cope with your mother's situation, feel neglected, and have taken to creating fanciful tales to get attention."

Something in the way White said this made Harry realize the unsaid implications White had hinted to the hotels staff about. Furious, he sprang from his chair. "You made her out as some kind of drug addict! My mother! She died to protect me! You lousy low-life!"

"Did she?" White asked calmly.

"It's only in all recent history books!" Harry shouted. "Since you're obsessed with the subject, you can't deny you knew!"

"Oh, I know the story Dumbledore told. I was merely asking if you remembered anything. Since I would consider you a more trustworthy source."

"As if I'm going to tell you," Harry said, still angry. "You can rot in your curiosity as far as I care."

White stayed calmly seated, making Harry wonder what he had up his sleeve. However shaky he still looked, White was acting as if he had the upper hand in this.

"It was the only known incident of anyone even surviving the killing curse. Anything you remember might be helpful in finding a way to _vanquish_ him. Even if you where only a toddler then, such a devastating event must have left some impression. Any hint, something that recurs in a dream, a fondness or dislike for certain items or potions or spells, anything that can be related to that evening might help."

Harry looked away. If he wanted White's help in finding "the power Voldemort knew not," he should share what he knew. "I do remember what happened," he said softly. "Everything. The Dementors who were guarding school during my third year brought it all back. Mum died to protect me."

White nodded. "Not a happy memory. Maybe you feel you can share it with me one day."

"My wand," Harry reminded the man.

White smiled. "Your promise first, I believe."

"What if I feel the need to defend myself against you?" Harry stalled, trying to get out of making a promise he wasn't sure he would want to keep.

"Then your intuition needs some fine tuning. I have no intention to harm you."

Harry grimaced. "Are you going to burn that nasty piece of rope?"

White shook his head. "I will use it whenever you need a reminder to behave yourself properly; a little hurt will not harm you."

"I do not want to be subjected to a whipping every time I do something you don't like." Something about White's face told Harry that he was over-asking on this point. '_He needs to think he is in control.'_ Harry remembered what Jason had said. He took a deep breath, for he didn't like what he was about to propose. "You tell me how you believe I should behave. We agree on some rules, and if I break one of them you can punish me. _Within reason_. So no multiple rounds, and no _forte_. But you can't spring things on me that I don't know about."

"That sounds reasonable," White conceded. "So for a start – since most things I take for granted seem new to you and the list will no doubt get longer – I won't abide by you putting yourself in danger or putting me in danger. I also won't abide by you putting others in danger unintentionally or without good reason. I expect you to refrain from behaviour that might cause social repercussions; I won't have you being a disgrace to me or to yourself. Just to make certain you are aware, you trying to run away would both fall under social disgrace for me as well as under putting yourself in danger."

Harry made a face; that sounded like White was covering every eventuality, and this way he still didn't know what to expect. Then, after a short pause, White continued, "It should go without saying, but I'll include it anyway, that you are not to behave disrespectfully towards me or to other people who ought to be shown respect, even if only to their face. Nor should you be inconsiderate to people in general, again unless you do so intentionally, with a sound reasoning behind it, and with due consideration of the consequences. And lastly, I expect you to obey instantly in situations that require you to do so," White summed up.

'_That_ _still sounds like he could hang me for breathing too loud_,' thought Harry "What situations?"

"Exceptional ones, like being under attack from a dangerous creature. Being in the company of dangerous people. You know the likely candidates better than most sixteen year olds."

"I'm fifteen" Harry blurted, hoping the missing year might give him some leeway. One year further from being an adult should give him twice the amount of excuses when White found his conduct lacking against his grown-up standards.

"Ah, yes, when was your birthday again?"

Harry nearly told White, but there was something about birthdays, he hazily remembered, something Professor Quirrell had said. '_The precise date and time of a witch or wizard's birth can tell another much about him or her, by the use of the divinational art of astrology. Also, there are certain spells that require the birthdate of a person. Your parents therefore have guarded your exact time of birth closely. The Ministry registers magical citizens by Hogwarts acceptance date, the date whereupon he or she used enough magic to be picked up by the Hogwarts quill._'

"I'm not going to tell you," Harry said; he wasn't going to hand the man still more power over him, even if not answering would mean the end of the man's current courteous behaviour.

White, however, surprised him. "Good for you. You will understand that I won't share mine, either."

'_Did I just get a compliment?'_ Harry wondered. '_For protecting my own interests – does he value that above gaining more power over me?' _

"So that sums up what I expect from you. If you'll behave according to these rules and dedicate some time to study even if you do not immediately see the relevance, we will get along quite pleasantly."

"You can't punish me for insult or disrespect if you haven't explained the social convention I'm supposedly breaking beforehand," Harry said, choosing his words carefully to sound more mature and to impress White with his seriousness.

"Granted. I will, however, expect you to listen carefully," White said referring to the incident with the cutlery layout, no doubt. "Also, when I allow you to accompany me at gatherings, be they muggle or magical, I expect you to not leave my sight without my permission. Such gatherings hold a kind of danger that you might not have learned to recognise, and I won't have you wandering off on your own."

"Fine, I won't go wandering off by myself," Harry said, knowing very well that he might have to break his promise, but at least he'd have a pleasanter time. Besides, he hadn't said he wouldn't go with anybody else without informing White, just not on his own – which he understood wouldn't work anyway, not while White was the focal point for Dumbledore's wards.

Having gotten this assertion from Harry, White stood.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked.

"I am getting you your wand."

"And my cloak and broom," Harry insisted.

White crossed his arms before his chest.

"And I will only stay the summer. You will bring me to King's Cross in time to board the Hogwarts Express," Harry added. He should have gotten White to agree with all of his own wishes before accepting the man's terms, Harry realized.

White shook his head. "You cannot use your broom; you will be seen. As for the invisibility cloak, I am certainly not giving you a device that allows you to sneak about unseen."

Harry opened his mouth to protest but White continued, "I'll let you have both items back when you leave for Hogwarts come autumn."

"You will let me go back to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, not believing his ears. He'd believed White would surely deny him that.

"Unless you change your mind," White said.

"You hope!"

"Indeed." White inclined his head towards Harry just an inch, but he carried no expression that Harry could read. White was too sure of himself. Or maybe he wasn't planning on keeping the promise. Well, Harry could solve that problem when it arose; if he did behave, White might come to trust him well enough to grow lax and he could then use that opportunity to contact someone at Hogwarts.

It was an exercise in self-restraint not to whisk his holly wand out of White's fingers when the man returned with it. Harry could have cried with joy when he felt it in his hands again. It even felt warm and joyful, like the wand had missed him, too.

"You must be wanting to cast some magic with it. Why don't you go onto the balcony; you won't be seen if you keep to discreet spells and you'll have some nice fresh air."

While Harry found it strange that White would send him outside instead of into his room, he wasn't going to argue about it now. He quickly moved to the French doors that allowed access to the balcony, before White would change his mind about giving him his wand back.

Once outside, he realized that he had been manipulated. There wasn't much he could do, since he needed to make sure it couldn't be seen. Most importantly, he couldn't practice anything he wasn't already proficient in: if he miscast a spell, anything could happen. Which was probably the reason White had sent him out there: to make sure he wasn't going to experiment unsupervised.

Harry levitated the heavy iron ornamental furniture. Half a foot only; just enough to place them more conveniently. Then he spent a while transfiguring some of the breakfast cutlery and the tea cup he had summoned from inside. White was out of sight. Probably in his room or something, for Harry had not heard him leave. It was good to have his wand back, but there were other things on his mind than spells he already knew. Like just how much of White's tear- jerking story was true. And what he had gotten out of the negotiations, and what he had agreed to in order to get it, and whether he should feel satisfied about the agreement he had made.

-o-o-o-

(1) Adapted from _Tales of Beedle the Bard_

_To make me Happy; write a small reponse. :-)  
_


	32. Negotiations part 4

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Negotiations  
**_**Part 4**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Chocolate for my beta Amarine; Remaining inconsistencies are my own.

18 reviews on the last chapter... squee!!!  
Thank you all so much! Also the people who commended on the older chapters since the last post. I replied by Private Messages where possible.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

After closing his bedroom door behind himself, René slumped against it. He lifted his right hand in front of him, the tight fist slowly opening. The flesh on his palm was cracked and red, severely burned. He hissed from the pain of moving. On his now-open hand lay, still warm, the bullet Harry had fired at him.

He silently thanked his ancestors - who must have been watching over him - for making him live though a life that had him intimately acquainted with agony. Had it been any other way, he would not have been able to remain still due to the pain in his hand and that would have spoiled his posturing.

The wounds would need something stronger than the healing salve he had used on Harry; luckily, this hideaway was kept well-stocked. First, he would close his eyes for a minute to make the dizziness fade.

"Master's not sleeping on the floor," he heard his elf's voice say, while he feeling himself being lifted up, floating for a moment, and being softly lain down on the bed.

'_I should be doing something about my hand_,' René thought. Instead, he turned his head, burrowing it into the cushion. He opened his eyes in search of the elf. He would need to hear he had done well to move him to the bed before he decided this was a punishable action.

When the elf saw him looking, he slowly opened its left hand, revealing a small pile of unused bullets. René smiled at him. "You're a treasure," René murmured before passing out.

He never noticed the old house elf gently taking care of his burned hand while muttering to himself – about how the Master shouldn't put himself in such danger and had he not warned the Master that the boy was stealing the gun? And how the family needed Master, because there was nobody else who would do a half-decent job. And how he had been a good elf, doing as he was told. And that he didn't want another family member to die. And that he was already mourning for more dead family members than he was serving live ones. And if Master would please allow him to stay close, so he could protect Master.

'Master' slept through all of this, which was good for the elf would have been horrified had his Master seen the big tears that trickled down his wrinkled face. It would not do for an elf to weigh his Master down with his own fears, only bad elves did that, or those too young to know better. His Master was brilliant, most of the time, the elf went on, but why did he have the unfortunate inclination to protect the undeserving? Master needed to be protected against them and against himself. A tricky thing to do, protecting the Master from his own flaws. For if the Master were to find out, the Master would guess what he had done already, the Master would surely forbid him to continue and be unhappy with him. The elf shuddered. If the Master knew what he had needed to do to protect the Master…Master would hand him _clothes._

That boy the Master brought with him – he attracted trouble. If only he could get rid of the boy - without the Master noticing, of course. The boy wanted to get back to his friends; well, he could go and endanger them instead.

It was difficult to keep an eye on Master, as a good elf should, since Master sent him to deliver messages all over all the time. Trusted him with messages too important to deliver by owl, his Master did.

But Master needed to be kept an eye on, he was a good Master, understanding the sacredness of family, but he was still young and had the stubborn foolishness of youth sometimes. Although, the Master was less young now and less trusting to strangers then when he first became Head of their family many seasons ago.

The old elf was well into that age where everyone younger seemed to stay young forever, especially those he had seen in diapers; they would never be grown up in his eyes. Oh, the elf knew he was growing old; his body reminded him of his age more insistently every day. He truly needed a young elf to do all the running around. But he couldn't bring that up – Master needed an heir first.

-o-o-o-

Harry had installed himself on the balcony. He had become bored with casting the same old spells he had been practicing for his O.W.L. exams and decided to use the unsupervised time for something more useful. He was holding the telephone receiver to his ear, out of view from the inside of the apartment. The first thing he had done was when Jason answered the call was to get Jason to confirm that he had called them and Harry had simply picked up the phone, should René interrupt them. Second, as soon as Jason's teasing and faux-hurt about not being properly greeted was finished with, was to seek verification of White's story.

"What exactly did he tell you, then?" Jason asked.

Harry could not trust Jason to tell him the truth if White had not; however, he didn't need to tell Jason exactly what White had told him, did he? He just needed to figure out Jason's opinion on what White might have said.

So Harry carefully formulated an answer that was somewhere in the grey area between truth and creative interpretation. "He said that he didn't want the Evil Undead One to take over Europe and he didn't believe Britain was doing even a half-decent job of dealing with the threat. So he's going to train me up so You Know Who won't dare to invade the rest of Europe for fear of having to duel me."

Jason's voice came back sounding hesitant. "That's...interesting."

"So? Is it true or not?" Harry challenged.

"You mean you don't believe him?" Jason teased.

"I'm scared he's planning to bargain with You Know Who instead. Exchange me for the rule of a big piece of You Know Who's empire or for some other position of importance," Harry said. It wasn't totally made up – his dreams had reminded him of such a possibility often enough. Besides, White was the kind of man who _would_ sell someone out if it suited him, unless the evil bastard act was only an act.

Even if White wasn't working for Voldemort now, there was still a possibility that Voldemort might contact him at some later date. There was a slight difference between White planning an exchange and him doing it as a last resort, since Harry could influence whether the latter happened or not, or so he hoped. Of course, being with someone who might hand him over if he felt it necessary wasn't a good place to be. But Harry wasn't so sure that what Dumbledore was planning for him was so very different. As seen from Harry's own perspective, of course: Dumbledore's aims were for the good of all, not for the betterment of himself – as White's would be. Dumbledore would not hand him over, but the man might put him in a really bad position, deciding to sacrifice him for the greater good of winning the war against Voldemort.

People were going to die in the war, Harry knew; it would be foolish to believe everyone he knew would make it through unscratched. Still, how and when they fought should be their own choice. Dumbledore was much too good at putting people into positions where they would make the choice he wanted them to instead of informing them in advance so they could pick the solution that best suited them – for their choice might be different from Dumbledore's. Because their choice might have less chance of success in the Headmaster's eyes, or it might carry unwanted risks or side effects.

Harry believed that a risk to his life would be weighted far heavier by himself than by anyone else, even Dumbledore, so he preferred to know the facts and choose his own course of action. He might, for instance, have stalled his OWLs a year, claiming to be ill or some such thing and learn Occlumency with Sirius instead of suffering though torturous lessons and detentions, courtesy of Snape and Umbridge. With Sirius, hewould actually have fun studying.

If White kept his promise and let him go to Hogwarts for his sixth and seventh years, then it would be interesting to watch him interact with Dumbledore. They were sure to start scheming against each other, and what they did might reveal what plans they both were hiding. '_I might even be able use it. Play them against each other and get each to tell me what information they get about what is going on. I might even get one of them to reveal his plans.'_

"Oh, I don't think you need to fear René helping the Dark Lord in any way," Jason's voice answered. "René holds a special place in his heart for the Dark Lord, a place akin to the vilest Dark Age dungeons. If the Dark Lord needs anything René has access to, he would sooner hide it away than let him have it. Rene will certainly not be joining him, not even if he were promised world domination. He might pretend to, mind you, as a stalling tactic. But you see, no matter how ambitious he might be, René detests taking anyone's order and –"

"Stop trying to sidetrack me," Harry interrupted. "Did he tell me the truth or not?"

"In a way."

"In a way? Please elaborate," Harry needled. The story Harry had relayed was not what White had told him, so Jason should have simply answered 'no.' Jason, of course, couldn't not know that Harry was lying to him, so he must be trying to cover for White, which meant that Jason thought it possible that White would have told Harry something like this.

"He didn't lie to you. That's what you're fishing for, isn't it?" Jason said. "However, I don't believe using you to stave off an invitation from a Dark Lord-led Britain is plan A."

"Then he did keep things from me."

"Oh, there is more to the story, a lot more," Jason agreed.

"And you _are_ going to tell me?" Harry pressed.

"No," Jason said. "It is not my story to tell."

Harry grumbled. "Fine," he responded rather annoyed.

"Tsk, Tommy!" Jason admonished. "This is where you say something like, 'Thank you for ratting on your cousin for me, Jason. You are such a good friend to me, Jason. Let me know when I can ever do something to repay you, Jason.' "

"Right. Thanks," Harry responded to Jason's teasing, since he didn´t want to lose Jason as a source of information and support. Besides, if White's story had been true, it might well be that Jason considered it personal enough not to want to tell it in White's stead.

-o-o-o-

When René woke, about two hours later, his hand was almost healed. He was no longer exhausted, but still wasn't feeling too well, rather like if he had been down with a fever for a few days. Object translocation was an energy-consuming branch of magic to begin with, and to do it wandlessly under the influence of dampening crystals was likened to flying Sweden's Annual Race on a hand-me-down broom.

René pulled the drop-like pendant out from under his clothes, studying it carefully to see how much protecting himself had cost. Thankfully, it wasn't broken - not even slightly cracked. The object was a rarity; no family owning such an heirloom would put it on the market lightly. And René surmised that it would not only take a master craftsman to make such an item, but one that held more than a passing understanding of alchemy as well. Had the object been damaged, it would have been forever lost.

The soft glowing liquid that had formerly filled the diamond was now gone, not a single drop of magic remaining. '_I must have over drawn it when translocating the bullet,'_ René thought; well, it had not been a moment for economy. He would need to refill it, which would no doubt be a tedious procedure. A time-consuming one, too, especially as he was certain he would need to purify himself first.

There was no way he could find the time to do that now; he would leave the challenge of recharging it to an unspecified time in the not-so-near future. The pendant had come to him as a spoil of war and its former owners had been in no shape to instruct him on its use. The procedures maybe written somewhere in some old dusty tome or in the paint of a darkened portrait of a forgotten ancestor. René didn't know where to start searching for these. It was probably easier to sound out how to refill it, by probing it with tiny tendrils of magic and feel how they reflected. Since there was no one he trusted to have adequate skill and patience, he would have to postpone the action.

While René had counted on offering up _one_ valuable old magic device - as tradition called for there being one amongst the gifts he was to bestow the teen - losing the pendant was unplanned for. Mr. Potter was turning out to be quite the expense.

'_Well, this settles it. He will return on some of my investment shortly, regardless of whether anything fortuitous comes from this adventure in the long run_.' White put the now-useless pendant in an unused corner of his toiletries case.

He had been wearing the thing for years, in case he ever found himself in need of an extra well of magic. It had worked, but this was certainly not how he had planned to use it up.

'_Trust Dumbledore to force me to deplete a valuable asset like this, even from miles away,_' René silently cursed the man. '_At least the spell he put on Harry should be broken now. Time to put some precautions in place to prevent the old coot from launching a second attack._' He had planned to use as few coercive spells on Harry as possible, preferring to gain the boy's trust and cooperation as naturally as possible. Mostly because he feared any interference with the contracts magic, but also because it would prevent him from having to give awkward explanations further down the road. Ironically, Dumbledore, Champion-Of-All-That-Was-Shining-And-Good, was forcing his hand.

'_At least the boy proved he is able to stand up for himself, even if it was done under a lot of duress_,' René thought. Harry had proven he had a high resistance to coercive magic, indicated by the long time Dumbledore's magic had needed to build up enough pressure. The teen had a strong will - a good thing, but inconvenient for what René had planned. It would be best to keep the boy off-kilter for the moment or to act immediately, binding the boy too closely for Dumbledore to come between.

He turned his attention to his elf, who was still silently staring at him. "Fetch me the ruby ring."

The elf bounced up at the order. "Master is needing poison to fill it?"

"I can whip up what I need here in the meantime. Just fetch me the ring and make sure it is clean," René ordered. "Inside as well as outside. Nothing that could interfere with my brew should remain."

The elf nodded, looking a bit put out. After it popped out, René shook his head; there was a sound reason that little cretin wasn't allowed anywhere near food.

René left for his study, fetching the ingredients he needed. Very basic ones would do for this.

-o-o-o-

Molly greeted him the moment he stepped into the kitchen of number 12 Grimmauld Place. "You look well. At least, better rested than you seemed lately."

Kingsley answered with a grunt that could be taken as either yes or no. He was better rested. He had spent the afternoon snugly in his own bed. Selwyn had walked by his seat while he had been rubbing his eyes in an attempt to keep them open; the man had come over and offered to cover for him. "Get yourself some rest," he had said. "We won't stand a chance against You-Know-Who if our best Auror falls asleep in battle."

Kinsley had protested, more for good form than anything else. The battles were important, but paperwork needed to be done, too.

"Aye, not as much as you need to investigate a sighting of a Death Eater," Selwyn had answered. Kingsley would have been alarmed but for the wink his colleague tossed at him. "You know, the one in your bedroom, probably hiding under the bed. You better go guard it." Again a wink. Kinsley had done so gladly. He now owed Selwyn one, of course. '_He likely has some family member wanting to join the Department. For whom he needs a second sponsor._'

It didn't bother Kingsley, who didn't mind scrubbing the cauldrons of the one brewing his potions. Besides, for this particular favor, he should be able wangle a lot of covering up in the coming months. Better yet, it wouldn't be difficult to repay, for soon the situation would be bad enough that they'd have to lower standards. And if Selwyn's cousin got killed because he or she was too incompetent, it wasn't Kingsley's problem.

At least now he was fit for the Order meeting. He hoped they would do more than argue today.

-o-o-o-

Peter managed to hop into the boat at the same time as White climbed into it. Harry's attention was on the waterfall that combined with this river further down the stream. Hiding under the plain wooden seats, he finally had a moment to catch his breath. He was once again trying to follow them when they left the hotel for one of their outings, hoping to learn something he could use. Today he might actually get lucky, since he had not lost them yet, Peter had even managed to hitch a ride while White and Harry 'pole travelled'.

Unfortunately they had not discussed anything interesting; maybe White would use the boat trip to tell Harry where they were headed.

There was something odd about that waterfall. They were headed straight at it, and the closer they got the more some invisible force was pressing against him. '_A magical entrance, with anti-animagus wards_,' Peter guessed, jumping overboard just in time.

He had lost them, again. Nothing left to do then to head back to Lausanne, grab some food, rest, and wait to see them return in hopes of overhearing something informative then. At least White seemed disinclined to change the location of his hideout. Peter would be done for if he did.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

AN:

My beta Amarine has a very busy month ahead so it might take some time to get the next post through.


	33. Trust Matters part 1

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Trust Matters  
**_**Part 1**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

With special thanks to my Beta Amarine and all who reviewed.

(I have not responded to all the reviews yet, this will be done over the next few days.)

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The waterfall crashed down all around them when they passed under it. They would have been drenched but for the charm White had thought to cast before they'd left the hotel. The boat must have had some kind of spell on it, too, since it would have flooded otherwise.

The handsome marble entry hall where they berthed clashed with the deserted mountain path they had hiked to reach the boat. While Harry looked around, White explained him that the charm also served as a key to pass the waterfall. A Muggle would not enter here, not unless someone spelled him to be water-repellent. They had to wait for their turn at the counter, for an elderly couple had arrived by Floo just before them.

Harry left White to deal with the reception witch, arranging their stay in rapid-fire French, concluding with a registration spell which White cast at a marble mermaid sitting on the counter's left corner. Harry recognised it, since White had used the same thing when they visited the Diablos.

"Don't I need to register too?" Harry asked. At the Diablos, White's identification had been enough, but this was a public place.

White shook his head, though. "I'll do your bathrobe-charm, so you will be linked to my signature. No reason to give them yours, too."

"Bathrobe-charm?" Harry asked.

Before White could explain it to him, the reception witch politely requested Harry's attention. She requested he sign a scroll binding him not to reveal the existence of Mont des Villégiatureux Magie to anyone not already a member of the magical community, and only then by bringing them here so they could sign the scroll themselves. This all sounded like a good security measure, so Harry would not have minded complying were it not that he really didn't like being handed a blood quill. He bucked up and signed, though, grimacing when his hand was sliced open.

Harry ignored the scrutinising look White directed at him as he sucked his hand and left in the direction of the changing rooms.

-o-o-o-

Harry found out more then he wished to know about the Bathrobe-charm, soon after arriving at the dressing chamber.

White had started to shed his clothes, neatly hanging them on a clothes tree in one of the corners of the room. Harry had turned his back; he had no desire to see White in the nude, even if the man lacked common modesty. It worked, until he felt the man's hands on his shoulders, forcing him to turn.

To Harry's relief, White was blurred from the neck down. Harry could make out his arms and legs, but would not have been able to tell if the man had any spots, or even whether he was a man or a woman.

"You had better get undressed yourself; clothes are rather counterproductive at a spa."

So that was where White had taken them today, Harry thought. It brought pictures of people lazing about in whirlpools and saunas, with towels where artistically draped so nothing was revealed. Petunia had loved to go with her girls' club, as a special treat. Vernon had called it a woman thing, since it apparently involved a lot of beauty care, something which had made Harry wonder why his aunt would go there: she had no beauty to care for.

"I don't need a manicure," Harry stated, a bit alarmed. Apart from the shopping trip from hell, he hadn't pegged White as being vain.

White laughed. "I guessed as much, so I didn't book you anything. I indulged myself with a massage, since I can really use one. For the rest of the day, we simply relax and enjoy, unless you'd like a massage, too?"

'_Some stranger pawing me all over?'_ Harry cringed. "No thanks."

There was an awkward moment after Harry had removed his clothes, before White could cast the spell. He had been naked in groups often enough in the Gryffindor boy's showers and the Quidditch change rooms, so there was no reason to be so uncomfortable, Harry told himself. He did undress himself and hung his clothes on the clothes' tree as quickly as possible, with his back to White.

"Mont des Villégiatureux Magie, or la Ville Repos for intimates, is one of the biggest spas in the Wizarding world, and the most modern. It was built in the nineteen-sixties by a family that had fled from Prague. It is too big to see it all in a day, so I opted for the 'privacy package.' It restricts our movements, but no one will be able to enter a room while we occupy it," White told him while he undressed. Luckily, the man didn't make him turn around before casting the charm.

"I trust you not to go wandering on your own. You will get lost and I will not be able to find you since the door to where you are will not appear to anyone."

Harry nodded, relaxing a bit. Even if he now was as blurred as White, he didn't fancy prancing about naked trough crowds of strangers. Especially since one of them might see his scar and start pointing and shouting.

-o-o-o-

The Order was going over their list of suspects. Or more precisely, the list of everyone they found whose signature matched the magical residue in Mr. Dursley's office.

So far, they hadn't found anyone with both the ability and a motive. From the few with the ability, they would need to do a more involved background check to see whether they might be undiscovered Death Eaters. Moody, however, insisted in being thorough and discussing all the names they had, which was why they were currently wasting time on a failed Dark Lord.

"I killed the man," Dumbledore said, sounding sad. "But, as we know from Voldemort, with Dark Wizards that might not be enough."

"Grindewald could still be alive? He could be working with you-Know-Who!" Dedalus Diggle screamed over the sudden din of sound that came from many people voicing their opinion at the same time.

Dumbledore lifted his hands and the room became silent again. "I do not believe the Dark Lord Grindewald did anything to allow himself to cheat death. But just because I do not believe this doesn't mean we should not consider it an option. The signature matches his and he would have cause to steal Harry, not only to get back at me but to use him as a weapon against Voldemort." Dumbledore nodded at the soft whispered questions. "Yes, _against _Voldemort. They might both use the vilest magics, they would not work together. Even if they could align their visions of how the Wizarding world should be, working together would require them to share their power. Neither would want that and both are intelligent enough to know that the other would only comply to being below them if they already had a plan for usurpation ready."

"So it might be Grindewald who abducted Harry?" Hestia asked in a small voice.

"It is an option that we cannot refute; however, it is not a likely one. Abducting children is simply not his style. Voldemort is the one who works from the shadows, spreading unrest and uncertainty. Grindewald was always very open in what his goals were. His followers did not hide behind masks like the Death Eaters do; they flaunted their alliance proudly." Dumbledore shook his head again. "I believe that if Grindewald were alive, he would have let the world know."

Kingsley fidgeted with the paper. This discussion over a dead Dark Lord wasn't getting them anywhere; better to move on. "The next one on the list is also supposedly dead, Regulus Black. Does anyone have any reason to doubt his dreamless sleep is potion induced? (1)?"

At the reference to Regulus Black, Snape made a face. "I saw what was left of him, when his dear cousin Bellatrix dragged him in. He already was more dead than alive before the Dark Lord finished him, and barely recognizable. Even if some necromancer warmed him up and animated him, there is no possible way Dursley would have described the man as a 'charming chap'. If the Muggle had missed the torn zombie look, he could not have failed to notice the torture-induced insanity."

"Bellatrix did to Regulus what she did to the Longbottoms?" Tonks asked, sounding surprised.

"Not quite, Miss Tonks; the Longbottoms were still in one piece." Snape sneered at her. "You'd better not come across your dear aunty without your wand. She has special plans for you; she can't stop mentioning them ad nauseum."

"Next on the list," Kingsley said, as much to hurry the meeting along as to save Tonks, whose hair was now as pale as her other aunt's. "A wizard from Norway, a retired Obliviator. Moody went to visit him."

"I worked with him sometime in the past. Since we're both retired, we had a bottle for old time's shake. He's not the one," Moody provided.

"You're certain, just like that? You shared a bottle and he's off the hook?" Emmeline questioned.

Moody made his eye spin, Kingsley noted. It never failed to intimidate people. "Auror's intuition. He's not it."

Kingsley kept his opinion to himself, giving Moody a knowing nod. A 110-year-old fart with a cursed-off arm, a hearing disability and false teeth, and a live in daughter of 80 taking care of him. He wasn't it – Auror's intuition. The old man and Moody had enjoyed the bottle, though, and the polishing up old war stories – Kingsley knew; Auror's intuition.

"Karkaroff, former Headmaster of Durmstrang." Kinsgley rattled of their next suspect before anyone else would dare to question the ways of Aurors. "Snape?"

-o-o-o-

Late in the afternoon, after Harry had been acquainted with the marvels of Finnish saunas followed by very cold swimming pools and a Turkish steam bath – which he preferred, it was time for the massage White had booked for himself. The man warned him that they would go to a more public area and that he needed to stay at the courtyard - a field of grass scattered with chaise longue, low blossoming trees and the occasional water-fountain - to avoid getting lost.

Curious on how magic would be applied in a massage, Harry went with White to see him settled. He had expected some kind of spell or magic item to do the actual massage, but this was not what happened. The masseur first had interviewed White and then cast a few spells at him while White explained Harry he was diagnosing the state of White body, mind, and magic. After this, the masseur selected some fragrant oils which he mixed into a base oil, explaining what each one was for, leaving time for White to translate. Harry recognised most of the ingredients from his Herbology and Potions classes, although it was the first time he saw something mixed that smelled so nicely. It might have been because there were no ingredients like bubotuber pus, armadillo bile, or eye of newt used.

Harry questioned whether this was actually magic. It was and it wasn't, White explained to him. All ingredients had their own magic; however, the inherent magic in these herbs was subtle enough so not to offend Muggles. The rosemary, for instance, was used in the exact same way by Muggle herb-specialists, but they said its attributes came from the chemical makeup of the plant. According to White, magic was much more prevalent than one might be led to believe based on which species where labelled magical herbs or magical creatures. Those species had been chosen mainly because there was something about them that Muggles would notice as odd. For instance, White said, if dragons could not breathe fire, they would - to a Muggle - just be a species of dinosaur which had somehow not died out. They'd fall over each other to study it, but they would not see it as proof of magic.

The masseur had then prompted White to take a place on his table so that he could start his actual work. White explained that he would use a tiny-but-steady stream of magic from his hand to support the herbal oil mix in doing its work. This was where it was different from a Muggle massage. It was slightly amusing to hear the masseur tell White off. Harry didn't comprehend the words, but it was clear White was supposed to stay quiet and relax.

The massage was not really interesting to watch, but just as Harry made to leave, the masseur handed him the ugly red ring White had been wearing today. White started to protest, but Harry slipped out of the treatment room. He was supposed to stay near, to take a seat on the courtyard and relax in the sun. However, he could take the long route, exploring the treatment area before going outside.

This area, like the rest of the complex, was spacious and luxurious. The ground was covered with thick carpets, since this was a dry area, and frescos were painted on the walls between thick marble pillars. There wasn't much to see since the treatment rooms were either empty or closed. The empty ones looked like the one he had left White in: big, a table in the middle, one wall taken up by a large, shelved closet where different bottles were on display, and a dispenser holding fragrant oils on the ceiling for spreading its perfumes in the air. The rooms did have a slightly different feel to them, Harry noticed, when he tried to concentrate with what he had decided to dub his sixth sense. Where one room felt so relaxing he almost fell asleep, another was making him feel lighter as if all his troubles with Voldemort and the prophesy and his sorrow for Sirius had ceased to exist. It felt like waking from a bad dream, just standing there, and Harry took some time to bask in it until his curiosity got the better of him and he continued his exploration.

Near the exit to the courtyard, Harry found a barber. He would have walked quickly past it; he had bad memories of haircuts, courtesy of his Aunt Petunia. However, his eye lingered on the photos of wizards sporting all kinds of different hairstyles and he halted. The haircut Petunia had forced on him had been awful. However, he way his hair grew naturally was a mess, one that made everyone compare him to his father. Which, now that he thought of it, he didn't like. It was nice that he carried some characteristics of the parents he never knew within him, but he wasn't them. He was his own person! he decided.

Harry walked into the barber's and pointed at one of the photos. The wizard featured was slightly older than he was and had red hair, but the cut would fit his dark hair just as well, and the difference would make it his. When he walked out, his hair was short and no longer tickling at his neck. It still had a blown-through quality to it, but from a breeze instead of a storm. Best of all was that he now had a fringe on one side of his head, enough to obscure his scar. The scar was still visible, but you had to look for it. Harry hoped it would deter some of those irritating glances to his forehead. At the very least, people would actually look at him when they talked to him, instead of talking to his scar.

The courtyard was high up and surrounded by a mountain slope. It was covered by a milky glass dome that was shaped like a mountain peak. From the inside, it gave the impression of outside space – there was even a breeze. From the outside, it would look as one mountain peak amongst many, hiding the wizard spa from Muggle planes and satellites.

Harry settled on one of the lounge chairs and took a look at the menu to decide with exotic-sounding fruit juice sounded the best.

While he waited for his order to arrive, Harry took a look at White's ring. In Harry's opinion, it was ugly, which would not keep White from liking it. It was also flamboyant, something which _should_ have kept White from wanting to be seen anywhere near it. Harry was certain he had not seen the man wearing it before, so why take it with him today, when it was - how would the man say it? - _counterproductive_.

Puzzled, Harry set about seeing what he could sense from it, marvelling at how easily the trick came to him now.

The ring gave off conflicting senses. On the one hand, it had a very energizing feel, rousing Harry from his lazy-lounging-around mental state, making him long for a good game of Quidditch; on the other, it felt relaxing – dreamy, even. The active feeling would come from the ruby. Harry remembered cramming all the attributes from precious and semi-precious stones in a pointless effort to gain an Outstanding in Potions. Apparently he had retained some of it. The dreamlike part had no base in the ring that Harry knew. It could be a spell, but it seemed wrong to cast a spell on a material that counteracted it. '_Unless the ruby somehow activates the spell?...'_

"Harry?" a faintly familiar voice asked from somewhere to the right of his head.

-o-o-o-

"Most of the Black Estates are blocked from me, Sirius's doing," Lady Malfoy explained. "One of the elves, Kreacher, can still get into all our Estates and he says most of the heirlooms are in our London house. Sirius was throwing them away. Can you imagine, all those unique treasures? Kreacher assured me he was salvaging them, though, hiding them beyond Sirius reach, although he might have just meant putting the garbage sacks at the back of the attic." She paused to take a small sip from her tea. "It is a good thing - I am sorry to say so, but it is - that Sirius died when he did, before he had time to cover the whole building and who knows what other places with his maniacal quest to destroy our history," Cissa complained. Jason could clearly hear the longing to visit her homestead in the witch's voice. It seemed that despite her marriage, she was still first and foremost a Black.

"Ah, so where is this Creature?" Jason asked. If he could make a show of doing something to preserve Black history for Lady Malfoy, he might gain a bit of cooperation.

"I don't know, I have not seen him since Christmas." Cissa sighed. "Sirius might well have killed to poor thing. He didn't hand him clothes, though. Kreacher had standing orders to report to me directly if such a thing happened."

"Does this London place have a Floo?" Jason inquired.

Cissa shrugged. "Yes, but have you not been listening? Sirius turned against the family. He twisted the wards to deny us entrance."

"The excluding function of those wards is Signature-based right? If your magic does not match the access list you can't go in, even if you should be able to based on having family-blood?" Jason ginned. "How convenient that I lack a Signature then."

Abruptly, he jumped up, grinning widely when he saw he had managed the startle Cissa into spilling her tea.

"Squibs to the rescue!" He yelled, while he walked in to the Malfoy manor in search of the Floo. Lady Malfoy didn't stop him when he entered her home. Instead, she joined him to show him the Floo.

While spinning towards 'The London Black Mansion,' Jason congratulated himself on his victory. '_I'm_ _on a roll today, so let's see what this old mansion will wield_. _With a little luck, that 'Key to Victory' was tiny, golden and sparkling and hanging in the key-cabined in the Patriarch's office. Waiting for him to pick it up.'_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

(1) Refers to the wizarding euphemism for deceased - 'enjoying dreamless sleep without the aid of the potion.' Variants are: 'took the everlasting variety of Dreamless Sleep' referring to a suicide or 'was fed the everlasting variety of Dreamless Sleep' for a murder especially by poisoning.

AN:

Before I get questions, I need to point something out about the Fidelius on Grimmauld Place. The secret is that the place is the 'Headquarter of the Order of the Phoenix.' The secret is not that there is a house at that place, or that the Blacks had a house in London. This of course could not have been made a secret, because many people knew already. Thus, Cissa and Jason can discuss the London Black Mansion and even attempt to travel there. They just cannot connect it with a place a group called the Order of the Phoenix uses as headquarters. Just like Voldemort could see James and Lily's house and could have pressed his nose to the window without seeing them inside: because the secret in their case was that they were living there.

This means that it is really important how the secret is worded. But then, things should not be too easy. Otherwise magic would be a solve-all.


	34. Trust Matters part 2

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

**Trust Matters  
**_**Part 2**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Chapter warnings: sexually-tinted sub-text

AN:

Please keep in mind that Snape really dislikes his students, present or past, Harry in particular. Furthermore, spying amongst Voldemort's curse-happy followers is a stressful exercise and is bound to be bad for one's mood. Also, please keep in mind that indulging in daydreaming about something vile happening to someone you dislike - which you do not believe is reality - or allowing it to happen when it is real and you can prevent it , are vastly different things.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Thanks to all my reviewers, you are the best!  
For those I could not sent a private message  
Alex,  
Your vote for White being Regulus has been noted, I wonder if the Orders discussion changes your view. Harry needs to decide whether he can trust White or not, but even if he does adults don't have a very good track record with him, he has earned his inclination toward self-reliance.  
SiriuslyDisturbed and Kate  
Thanks for reading and reviewing.  
LoonyLupinLuver,  
I wanted to explore Tonks relationship with her mother. And a view on Molly from the perspective of a young adult instead of a child/teenager. These two wants seemed to combine well. Of course Tonks perspective of Molly is skewed by her issues with her own mother.  
The main plot consists of many little plotlines being interwoven, you might not see the pattern yet, just the individual strands. I fear, this isn't a set-up that accommodates to well to a story that is posted in parts.  
TJeanetteT,  
To answer your question without spoiling the plot; Jason plays everyone, it is his idea of fun.  
Dan,  
They do teach Latin? Oops they don't do so in Holland. And I couldn't find a reference they did in Britain. Still Latin being associated with magic, the Dursleys would have found the one school that didn't expose their Dudley to the freaky language

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Jason arrived at his destination with a coughing fit. Travelling through soot was dumb. Maybe once upon a time when houses were one room huts with a cooking fire in the middle and straw pallets around it and a large boulder serving for a door, it had been high-tech - since then, though, nifty things like wooden doors and closets had been invented, which could serve fine as a magical doorway to wherever, with a little tweaking.

Having regained access to air, Jason looked around. He had entered to what he guessed must be the antechamber to the ballroom – handy for receiving large numbers of guests, as long as you invited Bronze Age-minded people only. The room looked clean - 'communal-pest control was here' clean.

The door opposing the archway into the ballroom was missing. Eaten by woodworm, probably. In the hallway, a shrivelled little greenish foe stood, looking at him as if he was something pest control accidently overlooked. The ancient thing seemed to debate whether to take care of the issue himself – expedience - or to call the young wastrels back to do their work properly – inconvenient, but how else would they ever learn?

Jason performed an elaborate bow; he respected character, and the elf oozed character.

On a practical note, the elf's reaction would give strong hints as to how it would be best handled, so Jason was studying it intently. Unfortunately, he didn't get to see anything. The moment he started straightening from his bow, a book hit the frail old thing in the shoulder.

"Stupid elf, go make noise somewhere else. They'll find us out," a young male hissed. Then the sound of a door being slammed shut could be heard.

Apparently there were children in the house - up to no good, by the sound of it. There were adults, too, who were expected to come investigating if they were too loud. He'd need to be quieter than the children, which would not be difficult if the gentle way they'd closed the door was their standard. Jason looked at the doorless threshold again: not eaten by woodworms, then. The Association of Elder Witches for the Conservation of Furniture better not learn about the abuse going on in this household.

Meanwhile, the elf had redirected its venomous look in the direction the book and the voice had come from. Well, Jason thought, that reaction told him enough on how to manipulate the little character, for the enemy of one's enemy is a friend.

-o-o-o-

Harry sat up when he heard someone saying his name. The voice belonged to a boy slightly younger than him with a bit of a stringy build, who was nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The boy looked familiar – Ravenclaw, Harry thought, Ginny's year.

"It is you!" the boy exclaimed, bouncing enthusiastically. "I thought I recognised how you walk. I didn't know you knew de Blanche."

"I am staying with him over summer," Harry said, while trying to put a name to the boy's face. He didn't dare ask the boy to contact Dumbledore before he could place him. It wouldn't do to let him know something was wrong and have him run to tell his Death Eater parents.

"Oh. But you are not related, are you?" the boy said, shifting his weight again. Just looking at him made Harry dizzy. "That's not very proper. Your family…"

Harry didn't want to go into the subject of how he came to be in White's care. Not with an almost stranger. So he cut the boy short, "My family had him sign a contract, it's all very proper."

The boy froze for a moment. "I guess," he dithered, "… your family being Muggles - they don't know our world well… not like de Blanche, anyway."

Harry nodded. "He takes me all kinds of places and I learn loads. It's brilliant."

"Yes, I suppose." The boy didn't seem to be convinced. "Well, if you are okay with it."

"I am," Harry said, unsure if he was lying or not. "So, how do you know de Blanche?" Harry asked, hoping to turn the conversation to family and get a clue as to who the boy was.

"Well, not personally," the other said, sounding apologetic. "But father made me memorise all the important people of Britain and the mainland."

Harry was quite happy not to have such a man for a father; memorising any number of people would be boring. "So, what do you know about him?"

"Rather less then you, I expect. He's a well-connected, rich Swiss gentlewizard."

"Do you know where his wealth comes from?" Harry wheedled.

"Ha, of course not! I bet even you don't either, no information is better guarded by the rich than their economic interests. If one knew where their wealth stemmed from, it would make it possible to poison the well." The boy shifted his weight again when he switched his perspective on the matter. "Or one might notice that the well they have been drinking from is nearly dry and they are clinging to the illusion of wealth in hope of regaining it, through some business-partnership, politics, or simply by marrying one of their children well. Of course, that could go both ways. More people than you might think are little more than pretenders."

"You think White is less affluent then he tries to make it seem?" Harry asked. '_Might it be my money that has White interested in me? Will he try to get me to invest in his whatever he does for a living once he believes I trust him enough?' _Harry thought. It didn't seem likely; White had bought the Dursleys a whole house to get them to let him go. Besides, he wasn't exactly behaving like someone who needed Harry to like him.

"I am hardly in a position to tell," the Ravenclaw boy answered, his voice dropping to a gossipy whisper. "You might be able to. If he is overtly money-conscious, always wanting the best price, values old stuff over new? It is tricky though; for some, getting a good price is a game or an honor thing. And all proper purebloods value their family heirlooms over newer things." Seeing Harry frown, he added, "Well, not if it isn't an old broom; for flying, you need the latest model to keep up."

Not even stopping to breathe, the boy continued his speech, "Besides, overspending to give an impression of wealth is also a tactic. It might work. So you never know, for sure. Overspending, while I have heard rumors of it been used successfully, is risky. Many a family in Knockturn could tell you how it failed them."

-o-o-o-

"Karkaroff is still at large," Severus answered, his words punctuated by a loud thud somewhere on the first floor.

Not wanting to give the impression that the misbehaviour of those red-headed hooligans had managed to interrupted his concentration him, Severus elaborated, "The Dark Lord castigates those who are tasked to find him at every meeting. No one has been able to pick up his trail."

"But what could Karkaroff want with Harry? Especially if he is hiding from You-Know-Who?" the Weasley-menace-who-one-day-would-end-up-as-dragon-dung asked.

"Hand Harry over in hope of pardon for betraying half the Death Eaters that ended up in Azkaban? For instance," the eldest of the brood – who seemed to have inherited all the brainpower available for his generation - told his brother.

The multi-colored Auror disagreed. "Karkaroff would have brought Harry straight to Voldemort's lair if that was his aim."

Severus let out a snort at that. Tonks and both the Weasley brothers looked at him questioningly, but it was McGonagall who explained. "During the Tri-Wizard Tournament, there were rumors, about Karkaroff and his interest in some of the Drumstrang students. Krum, mostly."

Dumbledore turned to look at her, eyes lacking their customary twinkle. "You never reported any such rumors."

McGonagall held his eyes and shrugged. "Victor Krum is an international Quidditch star and if Karkaroff doted on him, the young man's fame was enough to explain that. Karkaroff still behaved ridiculously over someone who was one of his students though, so stories were bound to spring up. The stories never included any of our students."

They were interrupted by a loud squeak as someone stepped on one of the noisy steps on the stairs.

In the following silence, Dumbledore focused on McGonagall. "Your belief that Karkaroff would not instantly hand Harry over to Voldemort were the boy to fall into his hands tells me you do not think the man innocent of the accusations and gossip piled on him," he accused her, sounding grave.

While McGonagall endeavored to excuse herself, hiding behind things like respecting the adherence to traditional values of the more conservatively minded and not offending foreign guests and the like, Severus allowed himself to daydream about how Potter would fare in Karkaroff's eager hands. Being a celebrity would not give the conceited boy any protection against misuse, and contrary to Krum, who had earned his fame, no one would care if he was unfit to play at his next Quidditch game.

-o-o-o-

"Have many rich families gone bankrupt, then?" Harry asked the Ravenclaw boy, after one of the waitresses had taken their order – a real cocktail, with alcohol; apparently, White had not instructed the spa personnel as thoroughly as he had the people at the hotel.

The idea of bankruptcy was new to him. Until now, wealth in the Wizarding world had seemed unevenly spread but fixed.

The boy was nodding his head, bright eyed. He was either happy at the misfortune of the bankrupt or happy to talk to the Boy Who Lived. Both options made Harry feel uncomfortable.

"Between the wars and times of economic decline, yes. You see, it is easy to make money with money. Getting enough to make it work for you though is much harder. The Potters have had it for ages, my family has made it, de Blanche has it, too – at least, it would seem so. Unless, of course, he is living from your vaults." The boy paused a moment, as if to give Harry time to react. Harry though got the impression he was trying to gain information on de Blanche from him as much as the other way around.

Harry kept quiet because he didn't want to say or do anything that would give away how little he knew. The idea that White might be stealing the money his parents left him behind his back chilled him. He didn't want to believe it; he'd shoved the thought away when it had come to him earlier. However, now that the other boy had said it out loud, he had to think it over, concluding that it was the most solid reason White could have for his actions that Harry had heard. Harry hadn't thought the man could get at his money without him allowing it.

White had been stressing he was Harry's guardian. Did this mean he would be able to access his vault without his knowledge? Molly had, once, to buy his school books after the trouble at the Quidditch World Cup. She had only needed his key. Harry tried to remember whether his key had still been among his stuff after White had been through it. He wasn't certain - he'd been worrying over other things, like his wand and invisibility cloak. Harry wondered if he could still access his vault. Would the goblins let him in without his key?

Harry couldn't do anything about it now, though, so he forced himself to continue listening to whatever the Ravenclaw could tell him.

"The Weasleys lost it, but don't seem to care," the boy was saying. "Unlike the Longbottoms, who tried to win it back swiftly by working dangerous but high-paying jobs."

Harry frowned. "So you believe de Blanche hasn't got a job?"

"Have you seen him go to work?" the boy asked, sounding scandalized.

"It could be his summer break." Harry shrugged. "Surely one needs something to do."

Harry couldn't fathom being some idle dandy. Sure, it would be nice to travel around for a bit, meet new people see new places, but he would feel like an outsider uninvolved in the world with no stake in anything. In the long run, it would be boring.

"Sure, he has an occupation; he's holding a position. That isn't like working a 'job,' " the Ravenclaw boy said, finally taking a chair and ceasing his fidgeting.

"No?" Harry encouraged him to keep talking. He didn't see a difference, but the other boy seemed to.

"As de Blanche undoubtedly informed you, wizarding Switzerland doesn't really have a central government like we do. Instead, it is formed by a conglomerate of 'Cantons,' like our counties, really." At Harry's unresponsive look, he added, "He hasn't told you?"

Harry shrugged. "He tried to push all kind of boring knowledge through my throat. I'm glad he finally understands I don't want that and is letting me enjoy the summer holidays."

The Ravenclaw looked distasteful for a moment, as if Harry had made a crude joke, but then he snorted. "You have him wrapped around your finger, I see. But you are a fool for not learning what knowledge he offers to teach. Hogwarts won't teach you. Ron's family won't teach you. And you need it, lest you find yourself married to some money-digging witch, draining the Potter estates on her and her relatives' frivolities while bringing in next to nothing in the sense of connections or opportunities."

_Was that jealously that made his voice so sharp? Was this boy part of a family struggling to keep pretence of wealth maybe?_ _Was he accusing the Weasleys?_ Suddenly, Harry remembered how he knew this boy. It was indeed via Ginny; he had been hanging around her for a week or two when they had been dating. Harry had witnessed their painfully public break up in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady when the boy had refused to join the D.A. Ginny had called him a coward and he had responded by calling her a gold-digger, at which point Ron had hexed the boy to an overnight in the infirmary, earning himself a week's detentions from McGonagall.

Meanwhile, Ginny's ex had continued, "You might fancy having a 'job' as some kind of hobby. But you wouldn't want your children to be forced to find one out of necessity. And you will lose any lingering influence your name still has. You'd be as powerless as a Muggleborn, which isn't good, since everyone wants something from you being the 'Boy-Who-Lived.' But _surely_ de Blanche has explained this to you!"

Yes, Harry decided, there was definitely some jealously there, resentment that he didn't have what he believed Harry to be squandering.

"Why should I want to be more influential than anyone else?" Harry defended himself.

"You would want everyone to have equal influence? That would never work," the boy responded, shocked, the idea of equality obviously foreign to him.

"It works with the Muggles," Harry reasoned.

"No, it doesn't," the boy argued. "I follow Muggle Studies, you know. They can all go vote for their government once every few years. And then those people they voted on do whatever they want, not in any way bound to what they promised when campaigning. They do not even know the people that voted for them. How can they possibly represent them? They don't even know who supported and who opposed them. There is no way for Muggles to influence a government whatsoever.

"And that's different with wizards?" Harry challenged. He didn't know how elections were done in the Wizarding world, if they were even done. However, the lack of competence shown by the Ministry of Magic made it clear to him that whatever way those in power were selected didn't work either.

"A wizard who is in trouble because of a new law about to be passed or needs an existing one changed, say, to expand his shop. He brings his problem to the attention of his Wizengamot representative. Who knows him, who knows that the man supports him. The Wizengamot member looks out for his clientele that way and, in return, they support him when he needs it." The Ravenclaw sounded sure, but Harry noticed that he had started fidgeting again.

Harry frowned. "The rest of the Wizengamot could easily go in another direction."

The other boy shrugged. "Of course, the interest of one family might be bad for the whole. That is why there are multiple people making up our Wizengamot. That's called democracy. Have you not read the additional history reading?"

Harry snorted. You didn't do additional reading – it was additional, in other words, not required. "I'm not in Ravenclaw," he said.

"That explains why you sleep or fool around in Binns' class instead of using the time to do reading or homework for other subjects. It doesn't excuse you from not learning. It is a miracle you got any O.W.L.s if you didn't do the additional reading. That is what Hogwarts is all about you know – the biggest library in Britain to exploit, and teachers to ask for explanations or book references when you get confused. If you are only going to read the assigned textbooks and practice the spells, you might as well do it at home with Granny to watch over your casting while she knits."

-o-o-o-

When they had had a little break during the discussion, to drink some tea – or coffee, for the overworked Ministry employees – and enjoy some of Molly's excellent cupcakes, they were startled by a loud crash, as if something - or someone – had fallen through the floor.

"What _is_ that elf up to?" Tonks snapped.

Arthur put a hand on her shoulder. "It's as likely the twins. I'll go and check."

Their break disturbed, everyone returned to their places, more than one grabbing an extra cupcake from the countertop.

"Could it be Sirius surviving somehow, going forward with his plan?" Hestia Jones suddenly brought up while people were still settling themselves.

"Sirius is dead," Remus said, seeing him fall though the veil in the death chamber yet again.

Dedalus seemed taken with the idea. "We don't know exactly what that veil does," he argued excitedly, jumping up from his chair.

"People who disappeared into it never came back," Severus said. He sounded impatient. Remus tried to appreciate the irony of the both of them agreeing on something concerning Sirius, but the resurgence of grief overwhelmed everything.

Hestia, emboldened by Dedalus' enthusiastic support, was not ready to let go of the idea. "That is what the Department of Mysteries wants us to believe. That doesn't mean it's true."

"Sirius would have contacted us," Remus said. '_He would have contacted __me__,_' he thought.

"He did disagree with how we approached matters with Harry at every turn,"Molly chimed in. "Pretending to be someone else and gaining final authority over Harry. This situation puts him into a position where he doesn't need to listen to reason."

"Does the signature match him?" Kingsley asked, obviously meaning to be rhetorical.

"No, but who knows what the veil might have caused? His signature might have changed," Elphias piped up, suddenly interested now that he found an academic challenge to their subject. Elphias would be filing a request to be allowed to research the thing with his supervisor no matter what the Order decided today, Remus thought.

"Can it – change? I thought a wizard's signature was static. A sure means of identification," Tonks said. She sounded a bit alarmed. Maybe because of her metamorphmagus abilities, nothing physical about her was static: she would not be able to identify herself by her face or her voice, Remus thought.

Elphias seemed happy to elaborate. "The signature of one's magic changes once a witch or wizards magic changes. This happens in infancy, because the magic is still very unstable then and environmental influences will influence its development. There's a tradition of binding the infant to a magic-anchor, to provide the child's magic with some stability and guidance through the early growth periods. Also, disciplines like Alchemy and Necromancy are believed to influence the nature of one's innate magic."

"Was Sirius Harry's Anchor?" Hestia directed the question directly at him, sounding alarmed. "He was in Azkaban all the time. That cannot have been good!"

Remus winced. He didn't know enough of the subject to say what the impact might have been, but he had to agree with Hestia. It wouldn't have been good. "I don't know. James might have kept to that tradition, but Lily would only agree if she knew about and approved of all the possible effects."

"How would Sirius' magic have changed by the Veil? We need to know, if we are to compare it to the signature we found," Bill reasoned.

"Darker," Moody said.

Sturgis shrugged. "He was a Black; the aptitude towards darker magics is in his blood, however much he denied it. His personality should be able to sustain a turn towards darker inclinations. It wouldn't stretch his magic beyond the breaking point."

Remus cut in – this line of thought needed to be put down quickly and firmly. "We're not going there. This kind of thinking made him lose his best years to Azkaban and Harry lose his childhood to those awful Dursleys. Sirius is dead and should be respected for whom he was."

"If his signature changed, that would indicate a change in nature, so if we are speculating that he came back from the veil in some way, he might be a changed person." Elphias seemed so taken by the idea he wasn't prepared to let it go so easily.

Hestia supplemented, "Which would mean that Sirius is no longer who he was, and we should not speculate on his actions as if we knew him. He is then a stranger with unknown objectives."

"But with the will to prepare Harry for the war," Tonks stated. Remus smiled at her, wanting to thank her for the support.

"We cannot know that," Hestia argued. "If he is a different person, he might well resent Harry for his dying, in which case Harry is even less safe with him than he was when Sirius was still the crazy-but-doting godfather."

"Hmm, he loved Harry, lived for Harry. If he would resent anyone, it would be those who stopped him from telling the boy what was happing. One could reason the whole imbroglio wouldn't have happened if Harry had been a little more informed," Remus argued.

At this, Snape sneered at those who had been arguing. "The mutt is dead. If you cannot accept people dying and need the hope that it is just some misunderstanding, you are better served to hide under a stone during the coming conflict."

Now, all those attending felt the need to comment. The kitchen filled with voices all speaking at once, both accusingly and appeasingly.

Dumbledore raised his hand and the kitchen fell silent. "Elphias, if you could pry from your contacts at the Department of Mysteries what is truly known about the veil and whether anything of remark happened the last few weeks?" At Elphias Doge's nodded acknowledgement of the task, Dumbledore continued, "Until we know there is a reasonable chance that Sirius might indeed be alive and running us in circles, we should not consider the option further. It is most likely wishful thinking, and as much as I would like to engage in the idea, the list of wizards we have to investigate is long enough to keep us more than occupied for the time being."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Accio review!


	35. Trust Matters part 3

**For The Greater Good**  
_**The World is not divided into Good People and Death Eaters**_

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**Trust Matters  
**_**Part 3**_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Thanks for all the reviews!

And apple-cake for my beta Amarine!

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Kingsley read off the next wizard on his list. "Mr. Hitchens, an elderly antique collector from the western colonies, disappeared just after the embezzlement of the Lestrange artefacts from the Department of Mysteries. The timing and his interest in the cancelled auction making him a suspect in the case."

"Auction of the Lestrange artefacts?" one of the younger order members asked.

"The Ministry seized as many Death Eater properties as it could after the last war," Emmeline explained. "The non-convicted heirs fought them, trying to hold onto their estates. The Ministry was bound by the Wizengamot to action off whatever they confiscated to raise the money for reparations. In the Lestrange's case the Department of Mysteries had set his eye on some interesting artefacts – they continued to delay the auction to get as much study time with those artefacts as possible," she said with a disapproving glance at Elphias. "Miss Rubina Lestrange used the Department of Mysteries' interest to strike a deal with the Ministry - she gave the Department of Mysteries the artefacts they were interested in, and in return the Ministry allowed her to claim the estate."

"Yes, that was quite clever of the young lady," Dumbledore commented.

"Clever!" Emmeline exclaimed. "It was downright mercantile. Since part of the agreement appeared to be her marrying Mr. Brown and taking on his name, effectively ending her own family."

"We all did our best to rebuild our lives from the ashes then," Dumbledore said. "We cannot blame the young lady for ridding herself of the name that evoked so many hard feelings."

"She sold herself and the Prophet to the Ministry," Emmeline insisted. "I'd say that having it under Ministry censorship - which lends it an undeserved glow of impartiality - is worse than when it was still aligning its message to the politics of the Lestrange family. At least the intelligentsia back then knew how to value its message."

"Are there any other clues pointing to this American elder?" Tonks cut through what she feared could easily become a row. An open dispute between Emmeline, a rather influential witch, and their leader would not be conducive to finding Harry or to winning the war.

"Arcturus Black, still working at the Department of Mysteries at that time, identified him," Moody said, sounding disgruntled. Tonks, knowing him well from her Auror training period, assumed that Moody had not believed Arcturus Black's claim.

"Arcturus Black was found stunned in the department - said he had been working late and had tried to stop the theft," Moody continued. "He got a medal for Special Services to the Ministry." Moody snorted derisively. "If you ask me, the man stole the artifacts himself and lay blame on some unsuspecting and unconnected foreigner."

"But Hitchens left soon after," Dedalus argued.

"The auctions were over; the man had no reason to stay," Kingsley said.

"Did no one try at least to question him?"

"He disappeared, he did," Moody said. "When the DMLE overseas liaison went to see his neighbors, they maintained he had died a few years before, before he ever showed up here."

"Identify theft?" Tonks asked. This was intriguing; she had the excited, focused feeling she always had just before the breakthrough thought that connected the facts and made a case make sense.

Unfortunately, she was distracted by Mr. Weasley returning.

"It was the children," Mr. Weasley announced. "They'd made a spy hole in the ceiling and were listening in on us. I closed it and warded the room above the kitchen."

Molly paled. "How much have they heard?"

"They know Harry is missing," Mr. Weasley informed her gravely. "They're worried for their friend. We should tell them _something_, otherwise they'll make up all kinds of horror stories of their own."

"What can we tell them that isn't horrible?" Molly sighed, looking pleadingly around the assembled order members.

Her question was met by silence.

-o-o-o-

Harry, realizing that he'd never convince a Ravenclaw about the benefits of not studying all the time, went back to fishing for information. "You were telling about the Swiss magical government and de Blanche's position in it?"

This had the effect Harry hoped for, bringing the other boy back in lecture mode. "Yes, I was. I got off track. So, each canton is independent and their legislation is different. Grindelwald and Leman-Sion are the biggest, in terms of wizard habitation. The de Blanche family originates from one of the other ones - I don't recall which one, but they are all in the mountains, far from Muggle habitation." The boy took a breath and went on, "Internationally, Switzerland acts as one country. De Blanche is part of their diplomatic corps. I'd say he is the leading diplomat, but that is a guess, not something I know as fact."

"So what do you think he hopes to gain from taking an interest in me?"

The boy frowned. "Politically, you mean?"

Harry nodded.

"That is difficult to say. Personally, the prestige coming from this arrangement with you might better his position within Switzerland and amongst the other ICW representatives from Latin-derived-magic countries. For the international position of Switzerland, I see no advantage, but I am not really into international politics. Their relationship with Britain might very well suffer. Likely in the opinion of British witches and wizards, you ought to be with a British wizard instead. It is not like you are some kind of nobody, right?"

Harry had a sudden brainwave. "Maybe he wants the relationship between Britain and Switzerland to suffer. So Switzerland can deny us any help against Voldemort and stay neutral in the conflict?"

"Oh, you have a mind for this! And here I thought you were merely picking mine," the other boy exclaimed. "You might have a point. Even though Switzerland isn't exactly known for its neutrality."

Harry frowned. He distinctly remembered that was exactly what they where renowned for. Or, in Uncle Vernon's words, they were 'lazy bankers making the rest of us work and then reaming off the profit.' But maybe this was a Muggle-Wizard separation thing.

"You know, the way they push their own preferred solutions for international issues on the rest of us. Their economy is one of the strongest in Europe and they know how to use their connections and influence politically. Well, at least, that is what they did until the Grindelwald war. Lately internal troubles have held them back from it. No one was in power long enough to push their agenda internationally. But according to the articles by Mrs. Tonks – don't tell me you do not read them, it is one of the best parts of the Prophet - things in Switzerland have finally calmed down after the last decade."

"Why would the Daily Prophet write about the situation in Switzerland?" Harry asked. He couldn't not ask the boy about the things he really wondered about. Like why Tonks' mother would write for the Daily Prophet, since it didn't seem to print anything worth reading. Then again, Tonks hadn't been very positive about her mum. She hadn't said anything negative, either, but he knew how that worked. He never complained too much about the Dursleys, either.

The Ravenclaw, whose name Harry still hadn't remembered, went on to answer the question Harry had asked. "It goes back to the forming of the Statute; Switzerland was one of the first to support us - us as in Britain - in that. They were so active in gaining other counties to the case, it is now often believed that the forming of the Statute of Secrecy to have been a joint action of Britain and Switzerland. Or even that the Switzerland started it. Sometimes France is named as in having had an important role, too, but that is mainly because the borders were different then."

"So there's a good relationship between Switzerland and Britain," Harry concluded.

"Well, there was for a long time. With the upper classes intermarrying as they did, goodwill was easily maintained. No sense in fighting family, you see. France is still our closest ally, wizardly speaking – Professor Burbage says it is different in Muggle politics. Our relationship with the Swiss suffered immensely during the aftermath of the Grindelwald war. Grindelwald was a Swiss Lord, so many there supported him and refused to see he went Dark."

Here, the boy had to stop for a gulp breath. Then he dived back into his narration. "Many blame Britain and particularly Dumbledore for not supporting Grindelwald's vision of a united Wizarding Europe. Those that were working closely with Lord Grindelwald during the war even went so far as to accuse Dumbledore of treason. When Britain refused to extradite him, Switzerland had Britain tried for interfering with Swiss internal affairs before the ICW." The boy made a silly harrumphing sound, as if he felt personally affronted by this. "Ridiculous, of course. However, the amount of supportive votes they got is a great testimony to the country's influence. Especially if you take into account that it was basically a complaint about destroying a Dark Lord who had been trying to take over other countries. So you see, relationships between Switzerland and Britain are quite strained. No one will like you being with someone from their country, though you cannot help that. And poor France is caught in between. They depend on a workable relationship with the Switzerland for many things, so sometimes they are forced to take their side instead of ours."

Harry needed a moment to ponder this and get some order in the chaotic tale the boy had delivered. '_Apparently, Grindelwald's Inner Circle of followers has managed to hold onto their power after his defeat by Dumbledore. That also explains the internal troubles the country has faced._' He wondered who had won the power struggle. Someone would have won, for it to turn quiet again.

'_It happened just after the 'death' of Voldemort; maybe his defeat was a downer for Dark wizards outside of Britain, too. On the other hand, it could be fleeing Death Eaters who joined their cousins in Switzerland that made that faction strong enough to wipe out all resistance.'_ This last was not a happy thought; it would mean that Switzerland would support Voldemort this time around. And this meant that it was not the country to be in, for him. He wondered what White's place in the whole drama was. The man did hate Dumbledore like a Grindelwald supporter would; however, he already had a personal reason for it. So he could still be on either side as far as Harry knew.

Harry's mind went to the big picture again. Switzerland staying neutral suddenly seemed like a good thing. "Can France being friends with both countries not try to mend the breach?"

"They say they've been trying just that for the last forty years." The boy said.

-o-o-o-

"Next on the list, Wanted Wizard 1-1-Ywaz-3-2-7-Birka. No known name, suspected of having ties with the Diablo family. But then, any sufficiently evasive criminal is said have ties with them," Kingsley said.

"What is he wanted for?" Bill wanted to know.

"He dismembered a Polish wizard who had double-crossed him on a deal, cutting him down to potion ingredients," Kingsley said. "This was a few years ago; he's still at large. Poland asked for him to be captured and extradited when spotted."

"I haven't heard of this?" Tonks sounded puzzled. "If the man is on one of the international wanted lists, all MLE personnel would have memorised his features."

"His features are not known. The victim's family refused to cooperate with the investigation. Apparently, the man secured the Polish wizard's willing cooperation after he cornered him by promising to keep the man's family out of it."

"He cooperated with being drained of his blood while alive?" Hestia asked, making Remus shudder as he pictured it in his mind's eye.

Surprisingly, it was Molly who answered. "Those criminals arrange such things all the time. They settle things amongst the men to keep the woman and children out of it."

Three pairs of Auror eyes were looking at the housewitch as if seeing her for the first time.

Molly shrugged. "Isn't that so? It's in the stories of the 'Curly Chesthair & Swooning Maidens' series from Witch's Weekly all the time."

There were some quickly stifled laughs from several directions in the room. They were not loud, but Molly – used to keeping seven children in line - would have noticed them, Remus thought.

"I read it for the recipes," Molly said snarkily.

"And a jolly good cook you are," said Dumbledore, causing Molly to beam proudly.

Remus seized the opportunity to get back on track. "Would this man have Harry?"

"Harry would never cooperate," McGonagall said, pride for one of her lions heavy in her voice. "He'd fight the bastard tooth and nail."

"Most dark potions that call for human ingredients don't distinguish between the willingness of the donor; however, some do based on the properties added by the fight or surrender of the donor," Snape lectured. "Human ingredients are all illegal and so there is a lucrative black market trade in them. Ingredients harvested from willing sacrifices are a truly scarce commodity, so it wields a very large price."

The mood in the room had pummelled to the deepest level of the evening. Kingsley had some encouraging views, though. "Finding unwilling victims and getting away with is easy enough; it does not warrant all the trouble the abductor went through to get at Harry. Besides, ransoming Harry would easily wield more. Especially if whoever has him lets You Know Who, the Ministry, and us outbid each other."

"So it is not this creep?" Hestia asked, sounding relieved.

Unfortunately, Elphias had woken from his veil-centred theories and decided to flaunt his knowledge just at that moment. "The magic from his mother's sacrifice permeates Harry. It is in his skin, his blood, his bones."

Remus caught on immediately. The magic lingering from Lily's willingly laying down her life to protect her son would make Harry's 'parts' unique. Their properties would combine both "surrender" and "fight," allowing for all kinds of experimental Dark Arts potions. As this insight spread amongst the witches and wizards in the Order, a nauseating sense of gloom bloomed.

"The contract would turn black if Harry were to die, wouldn't it?" Charlie tried to pick up the conversation again.

"No, that's if he manages to break it," Remus heard Bill answer his brother. "Should he die, the ink would discolour and vanish."

"The ink is still blood-red," Remus realised. "So Harry is fine...so it can't be this criminal."

"Oh, a knowledgeable potioneer would not harvest until an astrologically auspicious time to add potency. August Eve, for example, would be a perfect time, and that is less than three weeks away." Snape sounded as if he was enjoying this. It was probably just his fascination with both Potions and Dark Arts Theory, but it still made Remus feel nauseated to hear him speak so.

"On Harry's birthday! Oh, poor boy!" Molly exclaimed.

"His birthday you say? That would add yet more power," commented Elphias. Once something had captured his mind as an interesting line of research, the man really lost the insight to keep his mouth shut. "Yet it might buy us a year to locate him, since it would be beneficial to wait for Harry's seventeenth year and add the coming of age to the mix, to lend it yet more strength. Only his eleventh birthday would have been better. Provided, of course, Harry informs the man about his age and date of birth," he added pensively.

Hestia voiced what Remus was thinking. "How can you speak so calmly about such horrid things?"

"Would our panicking give more value to this evening then our expertise?" Snape said using his most oily voice.

Moody smashed his hand onto the table, startling them all. "I'll find the petty criminal, description or not, charges or no."

"There are so many persons on that list sharing a likeness in signature. And some of them were only seen for a short time, coming and going with the rays of the northern sun. Could it be we are searching for one person using several identities?" Tonks suggested.

Kingsley snorted. "You know better than that. Magical disguises would not have worked; most of the wizards on the list where seen in places that have protections against glamours and where they had no way of taking Polyjuice to prolong their fake appearance unnoticed."

Tonks wasn't convinced. "If the one we are looking for happens to be a metamorphmagus..."

"Tonks, metamorphmagic might seem an everyday thing to you, but in western Europe the ability only occurs in the Black family, and even then seldom," Kingsley cut her off.

"My mother was hardly the first to get burned off the carpet for breeding with a non-pureblood. Besides, the ability has been reported in other parts of the world. Who says the kidnapper is Caucasian?"

"Vernon described a Caucasian male." Kingsley argued.

"I could show him Caucasian male!" Tonks said angrily.

Charlie exclaimed, "You could?"

"Don't worry, I'll stay perfectly female amongst people I like," Tonks said, winking at him.

-o-o-o-

"This sort of thing does interest you?" the nameless Ravenclaw asked Harry.

Harry snorted. He had never before needed to think about politics. "Since I'm caught in the middle of it!"

The other turned pensive. "No, I don't think that is the whole reason. The subject really does something for you. We have a debating group, you know. It might interest you. International politics isn't the only thing that is covered, though, since there are many subjects that warrant discussion. It prepares the members for real life too, sharpens our tongues to defend our cases." He grinned, concluding smugly, "Those old farts ruling Britain now have left us living in the 19th if not the 18th century. There are many things that need changed. And our generation is the one that will do so."

"A Ravenclaw debate club?" To Harry, this sounded like exactly the wrong way to waste away perfect, lazy weekend afternoons.

"It isn't only Ravenclaws!" The boy said, defensively. 'Most of our house is more interested in studying some aspect of magic than in the makeup of society, anyway. There is a bunch of the brighter Hufflepuffs – they are very committed to what they believe in." The boy made a face. "There are a lot of Slytherins, too, I'm afraid. Not the bad ones, though. The club is invitation-only, and we don't want any of the conservatives going and snitching to their mommies and daddies about who has a different, and thus dangerous, opinion than theirs.

Harry grinned. "No Death Eaters, you mean."

"No, and no ministry toadies, either. Did you know the Death Eater cabal started out the same way, from being unhappy with where society was heading?" Harry's sudden discomfort must have been plain on his face, for the boy quickly amended his statement. "They are totally different, of course, since they choose violence, instead of reason. And I for one don't trust them to quit the violence should they ever get in a position to make the changes they want. There would be no longer any democracy, which would mean that in one hundred years, our great grandchildren will suffer from a society stuck in this century with no means of getting things moving again." He paused, scanning Harry's face. He seemed to judge the danger had passed, since the invitation Harry had dreaded came. "So are you in?"

'_It would be the kind of thing White would approve of_,' Harry thought. '_One more argument for letting me go to Hogwarts even if he prefers not to.'_

The boy seemed to have noticed Harry's indecision. "You can come to a session and decide afterwards. It isn't like class, you know. One of us prepares a lecture on a subject, true, but mostly to support their thesis. Most of the meeting consists of discussing the thesis brought forward and how it relates to other things. How a problem could be solved or how the indented change could be brought about, what the drawbacks are, and other such things. It is hard to describe just how interesting it is – you should be there." The boy's voice took on a pleading quality. "It is on Sunday afternoon and, weather permitting, we gather outside. Professor Sinistra sponsors the club; she doesn't tend to interfere, just comes and visits on occasion. She arranged that we have high tea to go with it, so it is really quite cozy. And it is not compulsory to come. If the subject doesn't interest you, you just skip. I know Binns gives extra credit to his N.E.W.T. students if they are club members."

"I am not taking N.E.W.T. History," Harry said, shuddering. The boys face fell. "Count me in on the debating thing, for the subjects that I find interesting, anyway," Harry relented impulsively, thinking that if it turned out boring, he could just drop out again.

"Splendid!" The boy said, bouncing about enthusiastically again.

'_He's too pleased – what did he just win, other than an extra club member? Ugh, I'm starting to think to much like a politicking snake myself! He's just happy with someone sharing his interest, like I was in welcoming every person showing up for D.A. meetings.'_

"Is Hermione a part of this?" Harry had never heard her talk about it, and somehow, he was not so certain he wanted to discuss all kinds of controversial topics while his closest friends heard his half-formed opinions. Hermione and Ron were both very outspoken about their opinions and Harry feared he might lose them if he voiced a different view on things.

Ron was prone to fits and fights, originating out of some incident that made Ron feel he was missing out because of lack of money and fame. Those Harry knew would pass, but if they were to fight about some article of faith… Harry wasn't so secure. The same with Hermione: she had stood by his side and never left it, but he had never disagreed with her about something she felt strongly about. At least, not openly. Harry felt he was undervaluing his friends, yet he was still unable to shake the belief that just being Harry wouldn't be good enough for people to appreciate him. He blamed the Dursleys for that.

"You are thinking about her house elf thing, aren't you?" the boy asked. "We thought about maybe inviting her. But she isn't very good at listening, if you are not a teacher, that is. She is to full of her own self-righteousness and she doesn't want to hear that she doesn't understand the subject she is going on about."

It was all well that Harry questioned his friends in the silence of his mind; it was definitely not right that others would disparage them in his hearing. "You only say that because you disagree with her wanting to free the house elves."

"The whole idea about 'freeing' them proves that she hasn't a clue about the whole subject."

"Right," said Harry, "because they like to be enslaved."

The other took on a long-suffering look. "Because they aren't enslaved at all. They are part of their families. A house elf that is given clothes isn't freed, it is thrown out on the streets. House elves, for all their magic, are like children. Surely you don't support abandoning seven year olds to their own devices?"

"They are not seven year olds!" Harry said, a bit put out by being lectured on this. "Besides, I certainly don't support child labour."

"I was referring to their mental capacity, not their physical age, when I compared them to children. Look, why don't you ask de Blanche about the kind of relation his family has with its elves? I bet he has them."

"Why don't you tell me about your family's elves?" Harry challenged.

"We don't have any; the last one died of old age before I went to Hogwarts. My grandparents decided against new ones, because in Britain, having house elves is increasingly frowned upon. It is associated with the Dark Arts and therefore with being the wrong kind, you know?"

"Crouch had Winky. And he was as against the Dark Arts one could possibly be." _Well, apart from using Imperius on his own son_, a part of Harry's brain reminded him.

"I mean, it is ok to keep them - can't sent the poor things away - just not to have new ones born. Besides, the Crouches follow Ministry ideology. The Ministry tends to equate the Dark Arts with what is illegal, and house elves are not against any law. So he doesn't believe it is wrong, and no one would have dared call him a dark wizard; he has too much weight to throw around."

Harry was about to point out the flaws he perceived in Crouch's reasoning when he saw White approaching them. Focusing on his schoolmate again, he noticed that the boy had seen White, too, and had reacted by standing still and straight, which must have taken him quite a bit of concentration.

There was an awkward moment when Harry could not introduce the boy whose name he didn't know. Luckily, White caught on quickly and asked the boy to introduce himself. Harry learned he was indeed a Ravenclaw and in Ginny's year, named Marcus Belby, and that he was staying with his aunt in Marseille for the summer. The poor witch suffered from ill heath and visited the spa every week. After some polite chit-chat, White excused them.

While slipping the mysterious ring back on his finger, White asked Harry how he knew Belby. Not wanting to let on he had just had not even greeted the boy when passing him in the hallways before, Harry told White about the debate club, tactically withholding the fact that he had only just joined it. White seemed both pleased and impressed. Harry could have hexed himself, realizing that now he had to go to the meetings, even if they proved tear-jerkingly boring.

-o-o-o-

"So, who's next on the list?" Arthur asked, looking a bit forlornly into his cup after Molly had spelled the teapot to serve them another round of tea. Tonks could relate; she was aching for something stronger herself.

"The diplomat," Kingsley answered. "R. A. de Blanche, Swiss representative to the I.C.W., in office since 1988. Graduated from Durmstrang with a Master's in History."

"Just History? From Durmstrang? Odd," McGonagall remarked. "Well, I suppose it is a useful line of study for a diplomat."

"De Blanche you say?" Emmeline Vance asked pensively. "I know of a de Blanche family. Landed gentry since the Middle Ages. They support themselves by exporting high-quality alpine herbs. I suppose they have an estate and a manor house somewhere in Switzerland or in the western part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The de Blanches are purebloods as far as I know, but they might not be. They are not advocative, tend to stay in the background. I don't think they make enough to finance political activity."

"Edelweiss Exceptional Exports?" Snape asked out of the blue.

Emmeline nodded.

"So what is this de Blanche like?" Tonks asked to rein them in before they went further off-track.

Emmeline frowned. "I wouldn't be able to tell you; never met the man. The original de Blanche was quite elderly. He stayed at their homestead and worked through intermediaries since before I started working at Trading Standards."

"So the diplomat would be a relative," Elphias Doge assumed.

"Supposedly. The only heiress was a grand niece if I remember correctly. She married sometime after the first war. This diplomat could be her husband, having assumed her name after marrying into her family."

"A tradesman made I.C.W. representative? The Swiss truly must have more goblin than wizard's blood in them." Elphias shuddered.

"I believe I remember the man from the I.C.W. council room," Dumbledore said. "He is said to be charming and lauded as an eloquent speaker. He can indeed sway the mood when debating, but in personal contact, I found him rather stiff and overly formal."

"Would he have taken Potter?" Kingsley asked, bringing the discussion back to focus.

Dumbledore shook his head. "He is quite the diplomat, considering he manages to keep the position for such a divided country as Switzerland. However, the man is a conservative wizard, likely to have as little contact with Muggles as possible. He would not know how to find Vernon Dursley, let alone pass himself off as a secret agent."

"As if Muggles would experiment on us," Arthur huffed, still shaken about the story 'White' had used to sway Mr. Dursley.

"Shall we move him to the bottom of the list then? Since he has neither a motive nor the ability," Kingsley said, pointing his wand at their list.

"Does he have no motive?" Hestia Jones asked. "Maybe he was doing one of those Swiss factions a favor?"

"The Diablos would have asked for ransom. Grindewald, we have already discussed. The remaining factions are not significant enough to risk an international incident," Kingsley said.

When Dumbledore nodded at him, he made de Blanche's name move downwards until it stopped amongst the other names they had all but discarded. The list was long and it would take considerable time to investigate all people on it. As such, they would check the most likely suspects first.

-o-o-o-

They walked into a cozy alcove where a Jacuzzi big enough for half a dozen people stood surrounded by tropical shrubbery and overlooked by a statute. Zeus, attended by his cupbearer, Ganymede, if Harry recognized the mythological theme correctly.

The statutes in this place were all pleasant; Zeus smiled at them, benignly welcoming, seeming genuinely happy to see them. Young Ganymede winked at Harry while he poured some more wine in Zeus' goblet.

"You're still tense," White remarked, slipping into the whirlpool.

"I have a lot on my mind," Harry answered with a shrug, wondering how it could escape White's notice that he had tensed up as soon as the man settled too near him.

"Obviously. You have your ambition set high and will have to get through some very dangerous situations to attain your goal," White responded. "That said, one cannot always be working. There is nothing you need to do now at this instant to get there. Take time off to simply enjoy living every once in a while. It helps to get through the drudge of all the things that need doing the rest of the time. It need not take much time - sometimes just a few minutes, sometimes a few hours or a full day," White said philosophically while making odd, lazy movements with his hands that might have been meant as pacifying.

Harry snorted. "How can I do that, when my thoughts don't cooperate and keep going back to things?" Harry complained, even while his mind took off listing those very _things_ again. '_Like that I should try to get home, but I have a better chance of learning how to kill Voldemort from you…except I have to trust you to tell you about Trelawney's prophecy and I don't. And that whatever you teach me is bound to include Dark Arts. I bet you're able to cast the killing curse. And that Sirius has died because I let myself be tricked. And that I should've learned Occlumency… And whether the Dream Catcher keeps out Voldemort, too, when I sleep? And that the fact that I have no trouble with visions doesn't mean that Voldemort isn't doing awful things and that I shouldn't learn how to kill him…but I don't trust you enough to ask you what I need to know_.'

Harry had tensed up even more, now that White's words had brought his inner conflict to the forefront.

"Why don't you let yourself float? It is relaxing," White suggested while toying with the ring he wore, as if he was trying to pluck the ruby out of its setting.

Harry didn't believe floating would quiet the maelstrom of disquieting thoughts in his head, but he might as well try White's suggestion. The man climbed out of the bath and sat on the edge as if to give Harry more floating room.

"Feel the warmth of the water." White's voice took on a hypnotic tone, like when he had talked Harry thought the sixth sense exercises. "Let the tension from your body flow into the water…"

'This must be the same sort of exercise,' Harry thought, deciding to follow White's suggestions to see where the man would lead him.

"Feel the soothing warmth, soaking through your skin, relaxing the muscles beneath… Feel it comforting you into your bones…" White's voice continued, slowing down. He was right, the warmth was nice. There was also a nice smell coming from the water, like the scent of distilled dreams, the sweet variety, intensely relaxing. Harry let himself drift away on it, into that oddly half-aware state just between waking and sleeping.

"Feel how the bubbles tickle your skin. Sense… There is nothing but you and the bubbles…," some far away voice suggested.

"You feel protected and relaxed now. Carried by the bubbling water… Protected and relaxed."

'Uh-huh,' agreed Harry somewhere deep in his mind. 'Relaxed.'

"Protected and relaxed. Safe."

'Safe,' Harry's brain echoed.

"You know you are totally safe with me…"

'Mmm…'

"You can depend on me, trust me…"

'…'

"Trust me."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Order has discussed all their possible leads now. So, what do you think - who's done it?


End file.
